


Peace is an endless battle (it's only a tragedy if you give up the fight)

by EliaAlice, Oaz



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), The 100 (TV)
Genre: (And it's mostly possible to read this fic without even knowing Carmilla), (If you're looking for smut you're in the wrong place though), Also unless you have really strange faves all your faves make it out alive, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clexa is the main relationship but it's plot-heavy, F/F, Gen, Lots of angst but the happy ending is a given, Season 3 AU, TW: Blood, for many chapters of the fic, so don't worry about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 142,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7459566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliaAlice/pseuds/EliaAlice, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaz/pseuds/Oaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke has been in the woods for three months when her chase with a panther takes a quite unexpected turn, and things pick up quickly from then on.<br/>Or<br/>Rewriting season 3 entirely while wrapping up all the plots and trying to fix all the plot holes, in a fic that happens to feature Carmilla just because we can.<br/>Or<br/>A one-shot crackfic that turned into a 5-part multichapter fix-it fic after 3x07 happened.<br/>Bear with us!<br/>(Note: All sentences in Trigedasleng or words in foreign languages are translated at the end of each chapter.)<br/>(Note 2: The tags will be updated part by part; only those for parts I & II are written so far.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Black - Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the idea for this fic simply comes from the panther in 3x01... It's an entire The 100 season 3 AU though - only consider seasons 1 and 2 as canon, not even 3x01.  
> We also reshaped every character that got introduced in season 3, so don't be surprised about that. Our main storylines, plot-wise, are pretty much based on those of the actual season 3, though. This fic is intended as a fix-it, but by rewriting everything differently. Some scenes are also inspired from scenes that actually happened in season 3. The fic is a what-could-have-been-with-the-ideas-they-had, in a way.  
> Our Carmilla backstory is also canon-compliant until the end of season 2 only, since we started writing this long before season 3 was released. As a result, some of the mythology we use is our own.  
> We started this fic as a simple one-shot crackfic, which evolved into a season 3 fix-it fic after 3x07 happened, but the crackfic aspect doesn't completely disappear from our writing - as you will discover in some scenes. (Yes, Carmilla is great for comic relief!)  
> Part I is character-focused and quite Clexa-heavy once Lexa appears; the plot will mainly pick up in part II. And beware: we love long chapters, all of which will start with an epigraph. (Yeah also, both your writers' first language is French, so apologies in advance for any English mistake.)  
> That being said, we wish you a good reading!  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for chapter 1: mild suicide thoughts.  
> \----------  
> “Sarcasm helps me overcome the harshness of the reality we live, eases the pain of scars and makes people smile.” - Mahmoud Darwish

The panther slowly moves closer to her next meal, eyeing her surroundings carefully and stopping every time she hears a suspicious sound. The woods are mostly calm though, only disturbed by the chirping of a few birds and by the sound of the wind in the leaves.

Clarke watches as the distance between the panther and the bait – a small bunny tied to a pole right under the tree she is currently hiding in – decreases, waiting for the right moment to attack. She shifts slightly, putting most of her weight on her left leg and tensing her muscles. She has been waiting for close to an hour and staying still is starting to be hard: she is crouched on a rather thin branch and the position is far from comfortable.

Clarke jumps down as soon as the panther – finally – launches forward. Her stiffened limbs slow her down a little though and, by the time she reaches the ground, the black feline has already snatched the bunny and dodged out of the way, watching Clarke with seemingly mocking eyes as she settles only a few yards from her to eat her dinner.

Clarke lets out an annoyed groan at the sight of her failure. She has been attempting to kill this goddamn animal – whose meat would feed her for _days_  – for more than two months now, but no matter how hard she tries or how clever she thinks she’s being, she never even manages to _graze_ the panther.

She watches with hatred in her eyes as white teeth tear through tender flesh, eating what could have been Clarke's meager dinner had she not wasted it as bait, and lets out an angry “I hate you” that leaves the panther completely unfazed. If anything, the black feline even manages to look smug as she thoroughly licks her lips clean.

(Clarke didn’t know a panther could look smug before that moment, but now she _definitely_ does.)

Losing the last bits of her patience – and of her sanity in the process – at that, Clarke suddenly rushes forward, aiming her knife at the panther's throat; the latter jumps easily out of the way but doesn't go much farther, which only serves to fuel Clarke's anger. That silly animal is openly mocking her now, playing cat and mouse while clearly not intending to lose, and that’s the last straw.

Clarke yells as two and a half months of pent up anger and frustration bubble back to the surface; in that instant, she doesn't give a damn about who could potentially hear her. With her control over her emotions lost, she stops caring about safety and just leaps forward, slashing the air with her knife repeatedly.

She swears that this time, despite her messy, meager (and so far totally futile) attempts, she’s going to kill _that fucking panther_.

*

She gives up about ten minutes later, head dizzy and body sweating profusely, frustrated beyond words and almost ready to cry at her own uselessness. The panther didn’t even try to attack her once, simply jumping to the side when Clarke was growing too close – as if such an incapable human weren't a worthy prey, merely something to toy with.

“Okay, you win”, Clarke says bitterly as she lets herself fall down on the ground, too mentally and physically exhausted to feel concerned about what could happen next. “I'm a disaster of a hunter anyway. Well, I'm a disaster, period. A freaking mess. So you know what? Just go ahead and eat me for all I care”, she adds, chuckling humorlessly.

 

* * *

 

The panther stares at the girl lying on the ground and assesses the situation, silently judging the nervous breakdown that is happening right in front of her.

Being chased by Clarke had been annoying at first but, after the first few days – as it had become clear that the wannabe-hunter wasn’t going to be giving up any time soon –, she had quickly found ways to make it more enjoyable. Two months of pretending to make mistakes only to escape Clarke easily and of dragging her into impassable parts of the woods later, boredom prompted the panther to take more risks by letting the girl come closer – and her reward was worth it: the look on Clarke’s face when she saw her eat the bunny was definitely one of the highlights of whatever game this chase had become.

What came next, however, quickly went from really entertaining to mildly disturbing. Desperate attempts at her life were amusing. Nervous breakdowns and suicidal tendencies? Not so much.

At the rather unpleasant prospect of losing her only source of entertainment of the past few months, the panther reacts without thinking. She rears and the contours of her body blur; mere seconds later, a very different someone is standing where the animal previously was.

“I’d gladly eat you, but where would be the fun in that? You’re an easy prey and I have a reputation”, Carmilla grins as she looks down at Clarke. “Besides, I like my meals clean or at least, you know, not—” She sniffs in a dramatic way before adding: “stinking”.

She raises an eyebrow expectantly, hoping the reaction she’ll get from the girl will be interesting enough.

Clarke sits up at the sound of Carmilla’s voice, searching for its provenance, and freezes on the spot as she notices the absence of the panther coupled with the sudden apparition of a leather-clad young woman. The latter couldn’t have had enough time to come from the surrounding woods without making a single sound, which means…

Which means Clarke has passed out after fighting the panther – or has been killed by said panther, an alternative she isn’t ruling out – and is currently dreaming.

Or she’s hallucinating from the lack of sleep. Because there is absolutely no other rational explanation.

“You’re not real”, she sighs at the strange apparition, and lies back down. She’s too tired to deal with a weird dream that doesn’t even feel like one to begin with.

“You can touch if you want. Everything is real and completely natural”, Carmilla says, raising her hands in what she thinks is a sign of good faith. “I swear”, she finally adds, fake innocence all over her face.

Clarke sighs, wishing the world would just turn silent for a while. “That will at least rule out the hallucination”, she groans as she gets up.

Walking up to Carmilla, she proceeds to poke her on the shoulder, then on the arm and on different parts of her body. “Definitely not a ghost, so definitely a dream. Also, your skin does feel like skin and not like fur. Who would have thought”, she notes absent-mindedly.

“I shave”, Carmilla deadpans before grabbing Clarke’s wrist. “Would you stop that?!”

“It’s fun, and I have nothing else to do until I wake up”, Clarke shrugs. “At least it’s not a nightmare this time”, she adds, speaking more to herself than to Carmilla, “just an annoying dream probably brought to me by my obsession over this panther that I can’t seem to kill. Still worth calling this progress, I guess…”

She jumps and yelps when Carmilla pinches her far from tenderly, effectively interrupting her trail of thoughts.

“Hey!! What was that for?!”

“Proving you it’s not a dream, sweetie”, Carmilla smiles.

An awkward silence falls upon the woods, only troubled by the occasional noise of small animals nearby, as Clarke tries to process that information. Her brain is slowed down by both exhaustion and hunger, making it hard for her to concentrate. But if she’s not dreaming, then the person standing in front of her _really_ was a panther only minutes ago, and that is… Well, simply impossible.

So she _is_ hallucinating after all, no matter how real it all seems to be. She probably confused two types of berries in the morning and ate toxic ones, and has been having visions since then.

Or three months alone in the woods have made her insane. An option she is also willing to consider at the moment.

“God, you smell even worse this close”, Carmilla complains, taking a step back and pulling Clarke back to reality once more. “No offense”, she adds in a tone that is clearly meant to be fully offensive.

“The more you talk, the more annoying you get, and the more I think I preferred you as a giant cat. No offense either”, Clarke shoots back.

“Full offense, I don’t like you and—”

“So even my own hallucinations don’t like me. Awesome”, Clarke lets out bitterly, not caring that she just interrupted Carmilla.

“Aaaaand she’s back at it with the stupid explanations. Great. Too much crazy, not enough patience”, Carmilla mutters, rubbing her temples. “Never mind.” She turns away and starts to leave.

She stops a few seconds later when she notices that Clarke is following her. “What do you think you’re doing now?” she asks, exasperated.

“I’m hungry.”

“So what, you expect me to turn into a panther again so you can eat me?!” Carmilla exclaims incredulously; when Clarke shrugs but doesn’t answer, she adds: “Wow, you're even more insane than I thought.”

“And you’re still not real, but right now my mind seems to think you are. So if I eat you, even if you’re a hallucination, I won’t feel hungry anymore. At least, I think that would be true. Brains work in weird ways”, Clarke contemplates.

“… Stop talking. And go away”, Carmilla says, at a loss for a snarky remark this time. “SHOOOOOOOOOO”, she adds as if she’s addressing a kid when her words leave Clarke unfazed, gesturing with her hands for emphasis.

Moving closer, Clarke stares Carmilla down. “No. You’re my hallucination, I don’t see why I should listen to you.”

“For the umpteenth time, genius, I’M REAL. And if I _were_ your hallucination, I would be telling you to do things that you _know_ you have to do but that you’re not _admitting_ you should do. Either way, take a damn bath and leave me alone!”

“If you come across a bathroom in the woods, by all means, let me know!” Clarke answers sarcastically, mildly annoyed.

“The river is right over there, sweetie”, Carmilla smirks, pointing to the woods behind her.

“I know that”, Clarke retorts; she’s been living in those woods for the past three months after all. “I also know there are strange creatures I’d rather not have another encounter with in this river.”

She stops, memories of her first day on the ground coming back to her – bitter memories of a time she thought everything on the Ground was and would be wonderful. Pushing them aside, she sighs and focuses on trying to make sense of what is happening to her instead.

“Now since you claim you’re real… If you’re indeed the panther I’ve been tracking down for months and not just some creation of my mind, how are _you_ so clean anyway? I’ve never seen you bathe; besides, the rumor has it cats don’t like water – or at least that seemed to be true a hundred years ago.”

“Your knowledge of ‘cats’ looks very limited to me, dimwit”, Carmilla grouches, rolling her eyes and drawing air quotes as she says the word ‘cats’ to show exactly how much she loves being called that. “We don’t exactly depend on water for hygiene.”

Clarke’s eyes lose focus as she mentally goes over her knowledge of animals, trying to understand what the strange and irritating cat-person means – she won’t give her the pleasure of asking for an explanation.

“Oh!” she exclaims as she finally finds the answer to her own unvoiced question. “Yeah, okay. That’s useful. Much easier to stay clean when you only need to lick yourself to freshen up.”

She pauses, reflecting on the sentence she has just uttered when she sees a smirk appear on Carmilla’s face again – a smirk that grows wider and wider as seconds tick by. “That came out kind of wrong, didn’t it?”

“I could help you with that, you know…” Carmilla says instead of answering, voice low and sultry. “Lick yourself clean. You only have to ask.”

Clarke blinks several times in surprise, taken aback by such blatant and shameless flirting after all the sarcasm that has come out of Carmilla’s mouth so far. “Thanks, but _no_. What I prefer to do with big and probably tasty animals is a lot more along the lines of _eating_ them than—” She stops, groaning internally at her poor choice of words. “Never mind, I’m going to shut up now.”

“You know, if you’re that hungry _for me_ , I’m sure we could find some common ground…”

Clarke closes her eyes and starts massaging her forehead and temples. The whole situation – everything that happened since she made the stupid decision of wasting the rabbit she caught on panther bait – is starting to give her a major headache.

“Having a giant black cat turned human flirting with me is something that is apparently really happening right now”, she mutters under her breath. “And here I thought I had already seen the weirdest things that could happen on the Ground…”

“Oh finally, you deign consider the idea that I’m real!” Carmilla scoffs. “Maybe you’re not _that_ mentally unstable after all.”

“Thanks for caring about my mental health – or lack thereof if I listen to you –”, Clarke shoots back sarcastically, “but I think accepting the idea that some people turn into cats would be a hard pill to swallow for anyone. How do you do that anyway?”

“Oh, you know, I close my eyes, pray a little… Then poof, I’m a cat! You should try it”, Carmilla sasses.

“Hmm, why does that not sound convincing at all?” Clarke pretends to wonder. “Oh, right, because magic is not a thing.”

(Carmilla snorts at that, but Clarke chooses to ignore her. She’s had enough weirdness for one day, and probably for the rest of her life as well.)

“I guess radiations can have more effects on the human body than just malformations”, she frowns instead, in a last attempt to rationalize the situation.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “Radiations change things, _right_. So you know about that, but you still want to eat me? That's… Interesting. Do you think you're immune to radiations or something?”

Clarke takes a deep breath and swallows thickly as memories she tries desperately to keep buried flash through her mind at the words – memories of bodies hung upside down, of endless rows of cages and of friends held captive; memories of a lever she had to pull to save them and of flesh burning as people, people _she_ killed, died in front of her.

Memories that hurt just as much as they did three months ago, when she walked away from her people because she couldn't stand to look at them.

Because she couldn't stand to have them look at her as if she’s a hero when she only feels like a monster.

Three months already, and she still doesn't have the strength to even think about piecing herself back together. She wishes she could simply forget, but she knows it’s vain to hope for such a miracle.

“My body is _great_ at resisting radiations”, she chuckles humorlessly, unable to fully hide the cracks in her voice. “Besides, what else can I eat? Berries, when I'm never totally sure they're not toxic? Nuts, when some of them are hallucinogenic? They're as irradiated as the animals in these woods anyway. _Everything_ is irradiated. Everything I eat, and everything you eat. Unless you just feed off sun energy?” She shakes her head. “I'm not even sure that would surprise me at this point.”

“No, I only feed off crazy people’s sass”, Carmilla replies sarcastically. “Of course I need to eat! And if you hadn’t spent three months obsessively tracking and chasing a panther down, you could have learnt a bit more about what’s edible in this forest.” She pauses, eyeing Clarke up and down, then adds: “You for one could provide a nice meal, if I were more desperate and you were less…” She points to all of Clarke with a disgusted look on her face. “I mean, your resistance to radiations is probably due to the smell scaring them away. And as I already said, I have standards.”

“So what, you’re the one who wants to eat me now? Is _that_ what you’d do?” Clarke scoffs. “You’d have to turn back into a panther first – and by all means, go ahead, I’m dying for _my_ next meal!”

Carmilla shakes her head, now frankly amused at Clarke’s continuous confidence in her ability to kill her one day – especially given that it’s absolutely obvious she has zero experience in hunting.

As a panther, Carmilla played with her for over two months and was never once in any kind of real danger doing so; as a human – a much more powerful form, even in her current weakened hungry state –, she could easily bite Clarke and drain her down before the latter even understood what is happening. She wouldn’t even need to use her powers to do so, brute strength being more than enough for such an easy task.

She decides against telling Clarke this though, figuring it would be funnier to watch her discover it by herself if it came down to that. Instead, Carmilla settles for throwing more flirtatious lines Clarke’s way – because the faces she pulls when she’s taken aback are decidedly very amusing, and also the only things worth it in this conversation.

“Oh, I’d do a lot of things, cutie”, she winks suggestively.

“Seriously, this again?” Clarke glares, crossing her arms. “And stop calling me ‘sweetie’ or ‘cutie’, that’s…” she trails off and sighs with annoyance – so much for the half-surprised, half-disgusted faces Carmilla was hoping for. “At least when you’re a cat, you’re not talking, so how about you change back and – bad pun aside – we cut back to the chase?”

Right at this moment, Carmilla curses her panther instincts for making her turn back to her human form at the thought of losing her one and only source of entertainment of the past few weeks. Clarke is only a welcome distraction when Carmilla can get to her, not when she’s an annoying pain in the ass – but she’s apparently switched to the second mode permanently, and Carmilla is _so_ done with her attitude. So much so that the idea of being bored doesn’t sound that bad anymore after all.

She’ll be better off far from here until she can find herself a new interesting occupation, she decides.

“As fun as that sounds, I’ve let you try for over two months now, and whatever game this is… It’s starting to get old. So go obsess over something or someone else!”

Carmilla turns around then, determined to walk away for good this time, but she doesn’t even have time to take two steps forward before Clarke calls after her.

“I’m not playing a game, I’m trying to get myself some meat. And since you’re the only edible animal of a decent size – animal or, well, whatever you are –”, she reflects, “that I have a chance of catching in this forest, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good!” Carmilla exclaims, not bothering to turn around.

She freezes when she hears footsteps behind her though, briefly wondering why she hasn’t simply teleported out of there yet – and blaming her weakened malnourished state for this instead of dwelling on the question. “Why are your feet moving?”

“I should have explained myself better”, Clarke says as she walks around Carmilla and plants herself in front of her. “I’m not going _anywhere you aren’t_. Sorry to disappoint, but you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Yes, I will if I want to”, Carmilla sighs heavily, losing patience. “You don’t stand a chance against me, I mean, against _‘whatever I am’_ ”, she adds, mocking Clarke’s voice, “and no dirty frustrating smartass fake ginger is ever going to eat me – even if you attack while I sleep!”

She takes a deep breath to try to calm down, but it doesn’t work quite as well as she wished it would.

“Oh wonderful”, she complains a few seconds later, “talking about food has made me hungrier, but your smell is making me nauseous just thinking about eating.”

“The _‘dirty frustrating smartass fake ginger’_  – did I miss anything? – has a name, you know”, Clarke sasses, rolling her eyes and taking a few steps back to stop aggressing Carmilla’s (apparently over-developed) sense of smell.

“Oh, finally, she’s moving away!” Carmilla mutters through her teeth. “And it’s not like you introduced yourself when you were trying to kill me, genius!” she points out to Clarke.

“Point taken”, the latter admits. “So uh, I’m Clarke. And… You are? Since I’m guessing ‘giant mutant black cat’ is not your name?”

“‘Giant mutant black cat’ does have a nice ring to it”, Carmilla comments, lost for a moment in memories of another time and another (happier) life, “but ‘mutant panther’ would be more accurate anyway.” She ponders for a moment how much of her identity she is willing to reveal, then sighs and settles for: “I’m currently-not-a-‘cat’ Carmilla. Even then, I have to mention that you wanting to eat me is _still_ a form of cannibalism.”

“Yeah well, I’m _still_ not fully convinced that you’re not a hallucination”, Clarke shrugs. “And to be fairly honest, I’d prefer it if you _were_ a hallucination”, she mumbles a moment later. Her life was complicated enough before she met Carmilla; the Ground has surprised her – in less than enjoyable ways – several times too many already, and she fears that processing the fact that some animals are actually _humans_ , if not weirder creatures, will make her head implode. “Anyway”, she adds when her stomach growls, reminding her of her hunger, “instead of discussing how we’d like to eat each other” – she stares at Carmilla sternly in hopes of avoiding more flirtatious remarks – “I see a third option that could benefit us both: hunting together. It’d be more profitable than spending our afternoon arguing. Just an idea.”

“So there is a brain in there after all”, Carmilla snorts, pointing to Clarke’s head. “That’s one thing you hid well! It probably has to do with the fact that you’re a natural blonde”, she smirks. “Speaking of which, why on Earth would someone willingly dye their hair red?”

“Why I dyed my hair is none of your business”, Clarke frowns. “And I’m starting to wonder if it’s in _your_ head that a brain is lacking, because you keep ignoring my questions, and so we’re both still talking and hungry instead of hunting. Are your poor attempts at sarcasm really worth that?”

“I don’t care why you dyed your hair, numbnuts. The color you chose is, however, startling. I mean, black hair is obviously way more…” She pauses, playing with her own hair and smirking, “more… You know…”

Clarke rolls her eyes at Carmilla’s suggestive eyebrow move. “Don’t you ever stop? I mean—”

“YU LAIK AIN, WANHEDA!”

Too focused on Carmilla and not concentrated on her surroundings enough, Clarke gets caught almost completely off guard by the Grounder that launches himself at her. She has enough reflexes to dodge the first attack though, jumping to the side while her body fills with adrenaline and mild panic as she tries to assess the situation. The Grounder doesn’t seem intent on killing her since his sword is still in its sheath, but that doesn’t make him any less dangerous.

Especially given that he’s about twice her weight and clearly experienced in hand-to-hand combat while Clarke is, well, completely untrained.

Her hand grips her gun by reflex, but she lets it go just as fast. She ran out of ammunition a while ago, her last bullet lost on Carmilla when she once lost her cool – reaching a breaking point at the sight of the panther easily escaping yet again.

Right at that moment, she curses her foolishness, wishing she’d had more self-control back then.

With Clarke completely unarmed, it doesn’t take long for the Grounder to grab her and twist her arm behind her back. Seconds later, she feels the blade of a knife against her neck – which efficiently makes her stop fighting her attacker and stand still instead. His grip on her is too strong anyway, and she knows there’s nothing she could do on her own.

Gritting her teeth and resolving to put her pride aside, Clarke wheezes: “Hey, a little help here maybe, uh, Carmilla?”

It’s only then that she notices that said Carmilla isn’t in her field of view anymore.

The Grounder apparently doesn’t like that fact any more than she does because he turns around swiftly, forcing Clarke to move along with him. The woods are still devoid of any presence though, even facing the other way.

“Were you never taught manners?” Carmilla asks Clarke instead of answering her, making the Grounder visibly jolt and turn around again – but it’s in vain, since Carmilla has already moved too fast for him.

Watching him slightly lose it, his whole body tense and his attitude far less relaxed than it was a few seconds ago, is entertaining enough and _definitely_ the most fun Carmilla has had in a while. Her only regret is that she can’t see Clarke’s face – which is probably highly worth it too – from where she is: behind the Grounder’s back. “Plus this is very amusing, and I don’t exactly see why I should help you”, she challenges.

“Oh, I _really_ preferred you as a cat”, Clarke groans as best as she can with the knife tight against her throat, wondering how many scientific laws Carmilla can violate exactly (because the last time she checked, invisibility was _not_ supposed to be a real thing).

“Chon yu bilaik? Weron yu kamp raun, bushhada?” the Grounder hisses.

“Em laik wuskripa”, Clarke answers a bit sarcastically, making good use of the basics of Trigedasleng that she picked up during the last few months – since she figures scaring the Grounder further would not be a bad thing. “And if she could _please_ do something here, it’d be really nice.”

“I feel like I’m being insulted for some reason”, Carmilla grumbles. “And you still haven’t told me _why_ I should help you.”

“Oh, so you have a number of cool tricks at your disposal, but you can’t even kick some guy’s ass, is that the problem here?” Clarke sasses, feeling bolder by the second as the Grounder’s assurance fades and his hold on her becomes shakier and shakier.

“Really, cutie, playing mind tricks with me? Are you foolish or just that desperate?” Carmilla asks as she plants herself in front of Clarke, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

The latter winces when the blade of the knife cuts slightly through the skin of her neck as the Grounder nearly jumps out of his skin, Carmilla having seemingly appeared out of nowhere. “Okay, this is becoming uncomfortable”, Clarke complains through gritted teeth.

“Fine”, Carmilla sighs dramatically. “I guess being nice for a change wouldn’t kill me”, she shrugs – when really, her change of heart is mostly due to the sight of fresh blood, something she is absolutely _not_ going to say out loud. She then smirks before adding: “You, on the other hand…”

“You as in _him_ , huh?” Clarke frowns, not really liking the ambiguity in Carmilla’s sentence.

“I’m still figuring that out”, the latter answers with a broadening smirk before going back to her previous position: behind the Grounder’s back. Once more, she runs too fast for the two humans to see her move, and it looks as if she simply vanished.

Taking a second to assess the situation, Carmilla is at first almost tempted to directly yank the Grounder backwards without caring if he cuts Clarke’s throat in the process – and she rolls her eyes at herself when she realizes the idea doesn’t sound as appealing as she thought it would. As a result, she starts by grabbing the Grounder’s arm instead, forcing him to let go of his knife, before pulling him away by the neck and finally, _finally_ , drinking blood for what feels like the first time in forever.

*

It takes Clarke a few seconds to steady herself once the Grounder releases his hold on her. Catching her breath, she then brings her hand to her neck; it comes back less bloody than she expected it to be and Clarke sighs in relief: it’s merely a superficial cut that will heal quickly.

When she turns around, she finds her attacker lying on the forest ground, quite obviously dead – even though she can see no visible injury on him. Carmilla is crouched next to him; when she gets back up and turns around after wiping her face with her sleeves, her lips appear to be a bit redder than a minute ago.

(Clarke settles for ignoring this fact though, not quite wanting to know if it’s – as she suspects – the Grounder’s blood that is responsible for this change of tint. She wants to think about the _ways_ it could have ended up on Carmilla’s _lips_ even less.)

“Nicely done”, she breathes out. “Care to tell me how exactly you disarmed and killed a man who’s twice your size, or is that another one of your little secrets?”

Carmilla takes a moment to appreciate the taste of blood in her mouth before answering. It’s the first time she gets to fully enjoy drinking since… well, it’s been decades, really: after she became as alone as it gets, she let her animal and vampire instincts take over her body more and more often – until she lived exclusively as a panther. Sure, she did transform back into her human form to feed off the people she had just killed with her claws and teeth, but it rarely lasted longer than a minute; and even then, she wasn’t really _there_ : she was just a predator hunting for survival.

(The reason why she’s back to being _Carmilla_ might very well be the growing interest her panther self had in toying with Clarke for the last few weeks – being close to the same human for so long bringing her consciousness back to the surface again –, but she really dislikes the idea of owing that stupid blonde anything.)

(So she simply doesn’t think about it.)

Carmilla swallows the red liquid that remains on her tongue with obvious pleasure. After all these years drinking because she needed to and not because she _wanted_ to, being able to truly _feel_ the blood moving down her throat and into her body suddenly thrumming with energy is something akin to a holy experience.

Granted, blood these days is not as tasty as it once was, what with radiations and all that, but there’s nothing she can do about it anyway. She had to lower her standards a long time ago, and by the current ones, this guy’s blood is amazing.

Carmilla sighs before turning her attention back to Clarke. “Care to tell _me_ why a man twice your size is trying to kill you? Also, what gibberish was he speaking and how do you understand it, let alone speak it?” she asks, raising an eyebrow. “It looks like I’m not the only one with secrets here. Oh and, you’re welcome, by the way”, she glares before wiping her lips clean with her thumb, removing the blood that still lingered there.

Clarke mouths a silent but honest “thank you” then goes to lean against a tree trunk, her legs a little shaky as adrenaline runs out of her body. “Want to know why he was trying to kill me? Well honestly, I have no idea. I think I’ve lost track of the reasons why people have wanted to capture or kill me since we landed here anyway”, she admits with a disillusioned and pained laugh. “And this one didn’t exactly explain himself. As for the ‘gibberish’ he was speaking, this language is named Trigedasleng and it’s the Grounders’ language. I’ve learnt some of it.”

“Okay…” Carmilla drawls, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “If you say so.”

“The fact that you don’t know it is interesting though, given that everyone who is not from the Ark speaks it and understands it”, Clarke remarks, forcing her voice to stay neutral in order not to antagonize Carmilla too openly – she’s curious and she’d like to get a real answer for once.

“Yeah well, I’ve been around for way too long, that’s probably why I’m not caught up on whatever weird phase you humans are going through right now…”

Carmilla only realizes that the wrong words have slipped from her mouth when Clarke clicks her tongue in surprise, looking at her with a hint of disbelief in her eyes.

“Humans, huh?”

Carmilla glares without answering, but mostly curses herself. It’s been a good long while since she last held a conversation with someone, and she clearly lost her habit of choosing her words carefully.

She thinks about draining all of Clarke’s blood from her body then, but she fears it won’t taste very good when mixed with the mud she’s sure to ingest in the process. Even not revealing who she is isn’t worth drinking from someone _that_ dirty.

“So what are you exactly? Some sort of, I don’t know, immortal mutant with superhero powers who’s coming right out of one of the bad movies we had on the Ark?” Clarke asks, still trying to understand which weird alternate universe she’s been thrown into, when she realizes Carmilla won’t answer her first question. “It does almost make more sense than an irradiated human at this point, though in both cases it questions the validity of science as I know it. Which is… Disconcerting.”

“Oh my God”, Carmilla mutters, wondering if Clarke will ever – by any chance – shut up, “what is it with humans and their insufferable habit of associating powers with heroes?” She sighs, thoughtful for a while, and decides that it’s better to be known as the ruthless vampire she is than as freaking Wonder Woman – so she might as well give an honest answer, but have some fun while doing so. “Okay, fake ginger, since I’m bored… again… I have a game for you: you get three chances to guess exactly what I am. You’ve seen movies, apparently, so it’s possible for you to figure it out on your own. If your answer is correct, I’ll find you an animal to eat. It’ll take me way less than the almost three months you’ve spent harassing me”, Carmilla says, giving Clarke a pointed look. “And, you know, when your stomach isn’t empty anymore, I think some history lesson may be useful”, she adds, pulling a face at the idea that yes, she _does_ need to catch up on quite a lot.

“What if I lose?” Clarke enquires.

“Do you really want to know?” Carmilla smirks, predatory.

Clarke rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She’s come to understand that Carmilla could have killed her countless times already if she really wanted to, yet they’re still talking – and in an almost friendly way now. Thus Carmilla’s threat comes off as half-hearted, and she doesn’t pay much attention to it.

“Alright”, she says, easily accepting the challenge – she definitely won’t pass up an opportunity to get a free meal, and explaining what’s been going on during the last few decades won’t be too difficult. “I’m game. Do I get a clue after each wrong answer?” she asks, pushing herself from the tree trunk she’s still leaning against and sitting cross-legged on the ground instead.

“Didn’t you get enough clues so far?!” Carmilla exclaims incredulously, staying on her feet instead of joining Clarke – if only for the satisfaction of being the one to stare the girl down now.

(She hates being small. She really, really hates it.)

“Fine. No clues. I suppose I can find what you are even without them anyway”, Clarke shrugs. “So, let’s see… You say you’ve been around for a while but you apparently don’t age, which already narrows it down quite a bit. You can turn into a giant black cat—”

“A panther”, Carmilla corrects, half-hissing the word.

“You can turn into a _panther_ ”, Clarke repeats, “which doesn’t help me one bit. You can become invisible, which—”

“I can what?” Carmilla frowns.

“Turn invisible. Like when the Grounder attacked me.”

Carmilla laughs frankly at that. “No, cutie, I didn’t become invisible. I can run fast enough to keep out of someone’s field of view when they turn around, though, if I pay attention.”

“Oh. Okay. So you just have unusual speed… It’s cool too, I guess. From the way you handled the Grounder that attacked me, I’m going to make an educated guess and say you have unusual strength too?”

“Correct”, Carmilla confirms.

“Hmm”, Clarke muses. “You could be some sort of shapeshifter…” She pauses, searching her memory for examples. “Uh, you’re not some sort of ancient Greek God or anything like that, are you?” she asks, slightly uncomfortable at the idea.

“Weird but funny guess, and no, I’m really not”, Carmilla answers with a small amused smile, appreciative of the involuntary compliment. “Though I do have their ability to, uh, charm people”, she smirks, “and I kind of match the physical requirements for the job as well… But still, no. Try again.”

Clarke keeps silent for a while, struggling to find which creature would fit the criteria she already listed, and she takes a sharp intake of breath when her eyes land on the dead Grounder. She notices how livid he looks, even for a dead person; remembers the red on Carmilla’s lips…

“Oh”, she breathes out as the answer dawns on her. “You drank his blood, didn’t you?” she asks, pointing to the body with her chin. She doesn’t wait for a confirmation she doesn’t need before adding: “Okay. That’s… Disgusting, but okay. I remember watching movies and reading books about your kind, though I never liked any of them very much. You’re a, ah, what’s the name again?” She huffs; the word is on the tip of her tongue but she can’t seem to get it out.

“I’m waiting”, Carmilla comments, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s been a while, okay?” Clarke glares.

“What, ten years? Wooow”, Carmilla sasses.

“More or less, and as I already said, I wasn’t a big fan. Besides, to a _human_ , ten years _are_ a long time. As for vampires, I don’t know—” She stops when she realizes the word came back to her naturally mid-sentence. “Vampire. That’s it. Vampire. That’s what you are, aren’t you? It fits quite well – though the legend has it you turn into bats, not cats”, she notes. “I guess they got a letter wrong, huh?”

Carmilla nods. She has to admit Clarke’s deduction skills aren’t too bad – but then again, the girl got to see a lot of what she is already. “Yes, I am a vampire”, she confirms, moving her hands up and shaking them as if she was trying to scare a child – but it only makes Clarke smile in amusement. “The ‘I drink blood’ part was kind of a big giveaway. Oh and, coming from the girl who wanted to eat a possible human-panther mutant, _‘disgusting’_ , really? As for your pun, it sucks. Yes, I can turn into a _‘cat’_ ” – she rolls her eyes so hard at the word that she swears she can see the inside of her skull – “but that’s because I’m special, blondie”, she grins, using her seductive tone once more.

“One, it wasn’t supposed to be a pun, and two, would you stop that?” Clarke groans.

“Besides, legends are just that: legends”, Carmilla continues, ignoring the interruption. “And I’m older than most of them anyway.” She shakes her head, annoyed. Legends about vampires had never been anything close to reality.

“I guess you don’t turn into ashes when you’re exposed to the sun either?” Clarke asks, looking up at the sunny sky that she can make out through the leaves of the trees above.

“No. It’s not because we prefer night-time that we get burnt by the sun!” Carmilla pauses and thinks for a second. “Let me correct that: sunburns hurt, whether you’re a human or a vampire. But do _you_ suddenly disintegrate while sunbathing? No, of course not!” she exclaims. “Well, I’m asking the wrong person anyway – you don’t bathe at all, apparently, you wouldn’t know –, but I’ve still never seen a human go up in flames. Too bad, I have to say: that’d be quite the sight.”

Clarke frowns at her amused tone, and Carmilla sighs. “Anyway”, she drawls.

And then she disappears.

Just like that – she disappears.

A faint trace of black smoke lingers for only seconds afterwards before the wind blows it away, and Clarke is alone.

“Carmilla?” she enquires, but the woods stay silent.

Doubt creeps its way into her brain.

Was Carmilla real after all, or did she hallucinate everything like she thought at first? Did she witness another one of the vampire’s strange powers, or could Carmilla really run that fast? But why would she run when they were in the middle of a(n actually almost civilized, for once) conversation anyway?

The questions swirl in her mind for seconds then minutes, and Carmilla is still nowhere to be seen or heard.

That’s when Clarke loses it.

She laughs, and it sounds deranged and hollow even to her own ears.

“And here I was, starting to _really_ think that she was real”, she mocks herself out loud, absent-mindedly toying with the leaves that cover the ground around her. “Because _of course_ , meeting a vampire is something that just randomly happens. It makes _so much sense_.” She shakes her head, trying to rid herself of the vivid remnants of her hallucination. “My bet goes back to the berries”, she whispers tiredly, and considers the case closed.

She feels the full weight of her exhaustion then, crushing her shoulders and willing her to rest correctly for once, but she knows sleep won’t come easily. It hasn’t for a long time – ever since her father got floated – and it only got worse with every life she took after landing on the Ground with the other prisoners. Now, in the woods where every sound is foreign and makes her jump, she naps more than she sleeps; even then, half of the time, she’s awoken by nightmares.

She leans back anyway, sighing as her back hits the ground. Eyes trained on the parts of the sky that she can see, she feels her thoughts drift away.

She thinks about the Ark, once high up among the stars and now nothing but a scattered mess crashed on the Earth; parts of it turned to ashes, parts of it still hanging on to what they used to be even when they were never meant to be on the Ground in the first place. Ironically, she finds she can relate to this half-dismantled monster of metal she used to call home.

It has been less than six months since her first breath of fresh air, but it already feels like a lifetime and more. A lifetime that has changed her, has turned the teenager she still was – even though she already had to grow up too fast – into what? What is she now exactly, apart from a mess of broken pieces that don’t fit together anymore?

What is left of the girl who smiled when she first saw the forest?

What is left of the girl who used to draw the Earth, dreaming about seeing it?

Another hollow laugh escapes her. Oh, she _did_ see the Ground for sure – too much of it to her liking, even.

She once believed the Earth to be beautiful, colorful and void of people. She believed it to be perfect and _welcoming_ ; to be everything the Ark never was and never would have been.

And now?

Now, she wishes she had stayed among the stars, because the Ground has broken her.

On the Ground, she has been hunted, captured and forced to make decisions she can never take back; over and over and over again.

On the Ground, her dreams have turned into nightmares – and worse.

But she was strong for the longest time. She held her head high, because she had to – because she was the one who could get them all through: her friends, her people, _everyone_.

As it turned out, she can’t be this person anymore.

She doesn’t know who she is anymore anyway.

“What am I doing here?” Clarke whispers, not knowing if she’s talking to the trees or to herself – not that one of these options makes her look less insane than the other. “Chasing after panthers that turn out to be vampires and then are revealed to be a hallucination all along, as if they could have ever been anything else? Life goals”, she scoffs.

The thought of staying where she is, lying on the ground and waiting for the Earth to swallow her whole, comes to nag at her brain. It’s not the first time, and she forces it back once again.

She has not gone into exile in the woods to wait for death to find her; she is there because she can’t stand to look at her people after what she did. Nothing more, nothing less.

She just has to find a way to make the puzzle pieces that she has been shattered into fit back together.

(It’s so much easier said than done, and she doesn’t even know where to start.)

She never looks away from the sky, revelling in the view and in the beauty of the trees. For everything the Ground has been to her, she can’t deny it is magnificent all the same.

“So what now?” Clarke wonders out loud, using the sound of her voice to help herself focus. “Find out why I almost got abducted by some random Grounder?” She briefly remembers the part where _Carmilla_ killed her attacker and almost gets up to check if he even existed in the first place, but lacks the motivation to do so. “If said Grounder is real”, she sighs. “Since the big cat wasn’t. How did I—”

Her thought process gets abruptly interrupted by something crashing next to her head with a hard thud.

“How do you _still_ not believe I’m real?! Come on, do you seriously think that a simple mind like yours could have made up all of” – Carmilla traces the curves of her body with her hands – “this?” she smirks.

Clarke startles and sits up as quickly as she can, turning around to face a very smug – and definitely very real – vampire named Carmilla propped against a tree, looking down at her with a raised eyebrow.

“What the—” Clarke nearly chokes out while trying to adjust her notion of reality again. “Where did you go?!”

“I honored my part of the deal, nitwit!” Carmilla sneers.

When she realizes Clarke is still confused, she rolls her eyes and points to the dead rabbit on the ground – a rabbit she almost, _almost_ threw _on_ Clarke’s head instead of next to it, only changing her mind at the last second.

(It has, of course, nothing to do with pity – especially since she’s starting to find Clarke’s nervous breakdowns quite amusing, although still a bit sad. If she could bring herself to feel sad for a human, of course. A stupid human she’s definitely _not_ getting attached to, and throwing the rabbit _next_ to her head was simply out of the kindness of her heart. Of course.)

“Oh”, Clarke breathes out once she understands what just happened. “I thought—” She shakes her head. “Can you really run that fast?”

“Ever heard of teleportation, genius?” Carmilla shoots back sarcastically.

“… Right”, Clarke mumbles. “More surprising powers of yours I should be aware of?”

“Are you going to eat that damn thing, or did I just hunt for nothing?” Carmilla asks, annoyed, instead of answering.

“Yeah, uh, thanks”, Clarke nods, giving up on interrogating Carmilla and getting up. Still a bit shaken, she tries to collect her thoughts while she picks up twigs that have fallen on the ground.

Carmilla stares at her, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“… Yes, I can _see_ what you are doing, my question was actually _why_? Do you want to play Mikado or something?”

“I need a fire to cook that rabbit”, Clarke explains patiently.

“Ah, humans and their incredibly delicate palates, right”, Carmilla grumbles and rolls her eyes. She watches as Clarke gets some bark from a tree, settles down and starts twirling a twig between her hands.

Five minutes later, Carmilla decides she has waited long enough.

“These are some impressive fire-starting skills you’ve got there, sweetie”, she notes as she moves to sit down in front of Clarke.

“Yeah, well, they’re better than three months ago”, the latter answers absent-mindedly, focused on what she’s doing.

“No smoke yet?”

“No.”

“Your method seems efficient”, Carmilla sasses.

Clarke’s head shoots up to glare at her, and the lack of attention causes the twig to escape her hands.

“Wonderful, thanks!” she snarls as Carmilla starts laughing.

“As I said: efficient…”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want, I haven’t seen you do any better!”

“Your method still sucks.”

“Do you know a better way to start a fire?” Clarke seethes, putting down in a fit of temper the twig she just recovered – too exasperated to concentrate at the moment.

“I do.”

“And what is it?”

“Stare at it.”

“Could you, I don’t know, not make fun of me for like, five minutes?!” Clarke bursts out, throwing her hands in the air.

“I’m not”, Carmilla glares back.

“Oh yeah, sure, because— WHAT THE? WHAT DID YOU— HOW DID THAT—” Clarke gapes as the fire starts burning hot and high.

“I stared at it”, Carmilla comments with a very I-told-you-so expression on her face.

Clarke stops questioning the vampire’s powers after that.

 

* * *

  

“Now that the rabbit I kindly caught for you is cooking, can we get to my history lesson?” Carmilla asks rather impatiently. She can’t wait to get away from Clarke and back to being alone, but this time with knowledge of what is happening in the world – and thus better chances of finding herself a worthy source of entertainment.

Clarke sighs, trying to gather everything she knows about the Grounders. She fears her chronology won’t be very accurate, what with spending ninety-seven years in space and all that, but she promised to try anyway.

So she tells Carmilla everything that comes to her mind. She speaks about the nuclear apocalypse, about the Ark and the twelve stations, about being sent back to Earth, about the Grounders and their traditions, and finally about Mount Weather. She brushes off that subject, feeling bile shoot up in her throat as soon as she addresses it; surprisingly enough, Carmilla doesn’t push. She doesn’t ask for details that Clarke doesn’t give either – about the specifics of the Arkers since they landed –; Clarke suspects the vampire simply doesn’t care.

“So the US are a battlefield where ‘people from the sky’ and native folks fight…” Carmilla comments once Clarke is done talking. “This sounds like the pitch of a very bad movie, yet it’s real. It actually amazes me how you humans always find ways to outdo yourselves. This—” She shakes her head and gestures all around her, “this keeps getting weirder. And I’ve seen my fair share of weird…”

“Welcome to my life”, Clarke laughs bitterly.

“I’d rather it stays yours, cutie. Anyway”, she yawns, “I haven’t talked that much in a long time. I almost forgot how tiring it was.”

“I’m the one who did all the talking”, Clarke glares. After three months of barely using her voice, such a long explanation left her throat raw and dry.

“Yeah, and I’m the one who had to listen to all of it”, Carmilla answers with a half-bored, half-annoyed voice.

“Well, you asked!”

“I didn’t know it was soap opera material at the time!”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” Clarke huffs.

“At least I don’t smell like crap.”

“At least I don’t eat blood.”

“You _drink_ blood, you don’t eat it, you moron!”

“Oh, because that’s better?”

“It did save your life”, Carmilla points out. “Though I’m starting to regret that.”

The truth of the statement efficiently shuts Clarke up. Left idle, she lets her gaze drift away, and it goes to fixate on the cooking rabbit.

The silence stretches out until Carmilla decides she’s had enough. “Now that our deal is done, I’ll go back to my life and let you go back to yours – a life that _won’t_ include any more panther chasing, otherwise it’ll probably be shorter than it should have been”, she warns very seriously (though she’s not sure she’d actually carry out with the threat – and it’s totally because of the trash can smell). “Enjoy the rabbit, I hope it tastes as good as the one you tried to bait me with!”

“Yeah”, Clarke nods with a half-smile, not quite knowing what else to answer. “Thanks.”

“Of course, she decides to become polite when I leave”, Carmilla mutters as she gets up, which only makes Clarke’s smile turn into a smirk. “ _Of course._ ”

It’s the third time Carmilla tries to walk away from Clarke, and it’s the first time nobody follows her.

For a moment, just a moment, she allows herself to think it’s the last she’s seen of that annoying fake red-head.

(She ignores the little voice in her mind that tells her she might not be that lucky.)

 

* * *

  

Despite the fire Carmilla lit for her, Clarke decides not to camp there for the night. Eating the rabbit next to the dead Grounder was a weird enough experience – though she was too hungry to really pay attention –, but sleeping there is something she can’t bring herself to do.

So she gets up once her stomach is full, puts the fire out and starts walking towards the river; her canteen is empty and she’s starting to be thirsty. She sighs, thinking about the _other_ fire she’ll have to build to boil the water, but she’d rather not try her luck with the numerous bacteria that are, for sure, living in the river – and she’s too tired to envision walking two hours back to the fire where she cooked the rabbit.

It’s almost night-time when she arrives, so she quickly climbs in the tree in which she stores her meager possessions. In a bag hung to a branch halfway-up, she retrieves the metal pot she uses to boil the water of the river and the blanket that shields her from the chilly nights; all that she has comes from the dropship: she took what she needed after walking away from Camp Jaha.

She had thought about living there for a while, where she would have been much safer than in the woods, but she couldn’t bring herself to stay in the dropship. There were too many ghosts dancing behind her eyelids in this place, too many memories she wished to escape; same went for the bunker Finn had found. So she had become a ghost among the trees instead.

It takes Clarke about half an hour to start her own fire near the edge of the forest, and she’s ready to collapse by then. She wants nothing more than to close her eyes and get some sleep – sleep that she knows in advance will unfortunately be more haunted than restful –, yet she forces herself to wait until the boiled water cools down enough to be poured into her canteen. She takes a few sips despite its still hot temperature; it’s not thirst-quenching at all, but still better than nothing. She also uses some water to quickly clean the cut on her neck, which has long since stopped bleeding and won’t be much more than a memory in a few days.

Eyes drooping with sleep, she then throws a few more twigs into the fire and settles next to it for the night, wrapping herself up in her blanket. She used to nap in improvised hammocks in trees at first, hoping to avoid bad encounters with animals, but she stopped once she noticed she was scaring most of them more than they were scaring her – almost all the animals living in these woods being preys, a fire is enough to keep them all away.

She falls asleep merely minutes later, for once too exhausted to stay awake for long after lying down.

 

* * *

  

She’s watching the devastation she has caused, watching flesh burn, watching Jasper’s accusing eyes, watching Maya die, and her heart shatters behind her ribs. She can barely breathe; there is stone in her lungs and self-loathing in her brain. Her chest feels heavy, _heavy_ as if there is someone pressing on it, and she closes her eyes in hopes of escaping the horror.

 _“It’s your fault”_ , she hears in her head over and over and over again. _“You did this. They’re all dead because of you.”_

She feels like she’s suffocating and she gasps for air, but it doesn’t quite make it into her burning lungs. Fleetingly, she wonders if this is what drowning feels like. Some part of her knows it is a dream, a _nightmare_ just like the other ones she’s had every night for the past three months, but the weight on her chest feels real – _too real_.

 _“YOUR FAULT!”_ yells the voice in her mind and she jolts awake, shaking and damp with sweat.

“Don’t. Move.”

Clarke blinks furiously to adjust her vision and tries to get up, but she finds out she can’t. The weight on her chest is still there, definitely real and pinning her to the ground.

There’s a face looking down at her, barely visible in the darkness of the night, and Clarke realizes she got caught by another goddamn Grounder.

She should have expected it, really, but the attack wasn’t at the forefront of her mind after her little chat with Carmilla.

She wasn’t careful enough, and now she’s a prisoner again – except this time, there’s no vampire there to help her.

Sometimes, she thinks, sometimes she _really_ wishes the ground would just tear open and swallow her whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Chon yu bilaik? Weron yu kamp raun, bushhada?” = “Who are you? Where are you (hiding), coward?”  
> “Em laik wuskripa.” = “She's a monster / boogie man.”  
> \----------  
> Lexa appears in the next chapter but mostly in the following ones. Patience ;)


	2. Part I: Black - Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay for the second chapter, we've both been quite busy lately! We've already written the entirety of part I, and since we edit part by part, we'll be posting a chapter every time we finish writing a chapter of part II.  
> Anyway, this is when it becomes a bit less crackfic-y and we delve more into the actual story. Enjoy!  
> \----------  
> “It is impossible to suffer without making someone pay for it; every complaint already contains revenge.” - Friedrich Nietzsche

“Who are you? What do you want?” Clarke asks, her heart pounding so fast and so hard in her chest that it sounds deafening to her own ears.

“I have been asked to bring you to someone. I have also been warned you probably wouldn’t come willingly.”

“No. Probably not indeed”, Clarke confirms, almost snarling.

“Then you leave me no choice”, the Grounder simply says as he rolls her around and ties her wrists behind her back. Clarke tries to fight him off, struggling under his grasp, but there’s nothing she can do. His grip on her is ironclad.

So she soon ends up sitting on the ground, bound to a tree and definitely very uncomfortable – though she has experienced worse.

“Why are we staying here if you’re supposed to bring me to someone?” she asks as her captor throws mud over the dying embers of her fire and sits next to it with a knife – _her_ knife actually, that he took from her when he searched her – in his hands.

“Shof op” is the only response she gets.

“Not the talkative type, huh? It’s okay, I can talk for two”, Clarke shrugs. Even if the Grounder doesn’t answer her, she’s hoping to get a better idea of her situation by reading his body language – his reactions to what she’s saying. “For one thing, you could improve your planning skills. I’m going to make an educated guess and say we’re not moving because it’s dark, which leads me to wonder why you decided to attack now. I mean, I was sleeping, you had plenty of time to prepare. Why so impatient?”

She’s trying to provoke him, to lead him to make a mistake which would help her understand which kind of threat she’s facing, but the Grounder is perfectly controlled and she has no such luck.

“What’s your name?” she questions, changing tactics, but her attacker does not even acknowledge he’s heard her. “Who are you working for?” Her head is running wild with the possibilities, and none of them really make sense. “Why is someone suddenly so interested in me today?” she wonders out loud. “Why now?”

Clarke barely has time to take another breath, ready for another set of questions, before the Grounder sighs through his nose, gets up, shoves a gag into her mouth and ties it behind her head. Still mute, he then goes back to his previous position; his eyes are fixated on the woods and he ignores his prisoner entirely.

Having nothing to do but watch now, Clarke takes in every detail she can… Which isn’t much, actually. After a while, she discerns a bow and a quiver full of arrows that she hadn’t noticed on first look in the darkness, laying on the ground right next to her captor, but that’s about it. Once she’s certain there aren’t any other possession of his that she can see, she focuses on the Grounder himself, trying to see tattoos or scars on his skin – or any distinctive sign, really –, but she has no such luck. There’s nothing to help her identify who she’s dealing with.

Totally helpless at the moment, she sighs and leans back against the tree. She has no idea how long she slept; it could still be the middle of the night for all she knows and the Grounder doesn’t seem intent on moving anytime soon, so she figures she might as well catch some more sleep.

The combination of her position and of her current situation don’t allow for much rest though, so she only dozes on and off during the next few hours.

 

* * *

 

Her captor unties her from the tree when the sun starts rising. “I wouldn’t try anything if I were you”, he warns with a pointed stare. “I’d rather not knock you out, but I’ll resort to this if I have to, nami?” Seeing Clarke’s confused expression – that’s a Trigedasleng word she doesn’t know –, he translates: “Understood?”

With the gag still in her mouth, the only answer Clarke can give is in the form of a nod, but it seems to satisfy the Grounder since he nods curtly back to her before pushing her forward. Clarke turns her head around to take one last regretful look at her sure-to-be-lost pot and blanket as they start walking, then focuses solely on where to put her feet on the uneven ground.

Unfortunately, her carefulness doesn’t prevent her from tripping over a root hidden under the thick layer of dead leaves less than a minute later. Since she can’t avoid or cushion her fall due to her bound hands, the air gets knocked out of her lungs rather violently when she hits the ground and she struggles to catch her breath as yellow dots cloud her vision. Her left cheek hurts, probably from a new cut that will only add to the collection that she already has, and it’s the only thing other than the pang in her lungs that she notices at the moment.

The Grounder pulls her roughly back to her feet barely seconds later, sending another wave of fresh pain between her ribs, and Clarke almost falls back down on her knees. Wobbling, she sucks in small, sharp breaths as she waits for the world to stop spinning.

“Be careful”, her attacker glares, almost scolding her.

He doesn’t give her much respite before he starts moving again; forced to follow in spite of her aching lungs, Clarke looks back down at the ground and decides to raise her feet more than necessary with each step to avoid another fall – since one was largely enough in her opinion… It’s twice as tiring as walking normally though, so she doubts she’ll be able to keep it up for too long.

Something at the corner of her eye catches her attention just as their path takes a turn after a massive tree. She barely manages to catch a glimpse, but the form is easily recognizable.

She spends the next hour wondering if her attacker killed another Grounder who was getting too close to her, and if so, what the hell is going on exactly.

 

* * *

 

They walk for hours, seldom stopping to drink some water or rest their legs. Clarke feels numb even though her whole body aches; she’s fallen down several times despite her best attempts to keep her balance. Resolve or not, with her hands bound behind her back, she can hardly avoid ending up on the ground when she stumbles.

The sun is bright and high in the sky by the time she thinks she can’t go any farther. She’s exhausted, her body running solely on a mix of adrenaline and fear – the only two things that have been keeping her on her feet so far.

Hoping to force her captor to pause for a while if she refuses to move, she lets herself drop to her knees and then lies on the ground.

“Either you get up, or I drag you behind me”, he states very seriously.

Unable to answer with the gag in her mouth, Clarke just stares back at him defiantly, daring him to carry out the threat.

And he does.

She cries out in pain when he yanks on the rope, feeling as if her shoulders just dislocated under the pressure; that at least makes him stop, but Clarke has to admit defeat. Walking is a great idea after all – much, much better than this.

“Stand up. Quiet”, he orders.

She has no choice but to obey.

 *

Less than ten minutes pass by before the Grounder comes to a sudden stop, his muscles tense and his senses visibly on high alert.

Time stills for a few seconds, and then everything turns into chaos.

Clarke hardly has time to register what is happening as _yet another fucking Grounder_ attacks them, but what she does know is that it could very well be her one and only chance to escape. So she takes advantage of the fact that her captor is busy fighting to take a few steps back and lie down on the ground, rolling over and writhing around until she manages to get her hands back in front of her. Having recovered a semblance of ability to balance on her feet, she doesn’t waste any more time before getting up and running away. She has no idea where she’s going; her brain is fixated on only one thing: getting as far as she can before someone starts chasing her. She knows her escape attempt is bound to fail for sure – her hands are still tied and she will be powerless in front of the winner of the fight as soon as she gets recaptured –, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t try everything she can.

Her legs give way under her without warning and she barely has time to raise her hands in front of her face before she crashes on the ground, her weakened body protesting against the efforts she’s asking it to make.

She’s so tired that she almost feels like giving up, like she did the previous day with the panther when she had, for a moment, stopped caring about what would happen to her. This time though, her survival instincts force her to move again; for some reason, she feels more threatened by the Grounders chasing her than by the panther. She doesn’t know why exactly – if it’s because the giant black cat she didn’t know to be Carmilla back then didn’t seem intent on attacking her, or if it’s because she’s come to understand that humans are the worst animals of all.

She groans as she gets back up, realizing bitterly that she hasn’t covered more than a tenth of a mile at best so far. Refusing to let this observation discourage her, she focuses on the fighting sounds she can hear behind her – they’re a good enough motivation – and directs her shreds of remaining energy solely towards running away.

So much so that she almost falls _again_ when she gets startled by an unexpected voice coming from her left.

“Wow, you look even worse than you did yesterday”, Carmilla comments, sounding almost surprised. “I didn’t think that’d be possible.”

Clarke staggers a few steps before she manages to steady herself, and relief floods through her as she turns towards the vampire. “Carmilla”, she breathes out as she removes the gag from her mouth.

“I’ve been gone for less than a day and you somehow managed to get captured – again –”, Carmilla notes almost incredulously, “then escape and get chased by two different people? That must be a new record.”

“Long story”, Clarke simply says. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you scream, so I came to see the show… Also, your hands are tied”, Carmilla deadpans.

“… Thanks, I noticed”, Clarke glares. She has a sarcastic answer ready to get out but she keeps it in – she figures now is not the best time to antagonize the vampire.

“So, are you like a _dangerous_ fugitive or something?” Carmilla asks, clearly amused – and just as clearly making fun of Clarke. “Is that why everyone’s after you? Because you really don’t look like one.”

“No.”

“Should I be afraid?” Carmilla adds with her trademark half-flirtatious tone, though she’s close to laughing at the same time at such a ridiculous idea.

“No”, Clarke repeats, trying really hard to keep her voice neutral.

She doesn’t get to say another word after that because some louder groans suddenly fill the air, so she turns around to see what happened to the two fighting Grounders.

“One down, one to go”, Carmilla says cheerfully, and Clarke realizes that the vampire sounds eager.

Too eager.

“Wait”, Clarke exclaims as Carmilla moves quickly past her and towards the Grounder who won the fight – her captor. “Don’t kill him!”

“Oh yeah, because you’re totally in a position to give orders, cutie. Why should I let this one live?” Carmilla enquires, grabbing the man and immobilizing him.

Clarke does her best to go back, as fast as possible, to the spot where the Grounder and she were attacked; given how much time she needs to reach it, she’s fairly certain that the vampire used her powers to get there in mere seconds – no, actually, she’s absolutely sure of it.

“I’m tired of getting captured and I’d like to get an explanation”, she blurts out breathlessly, for she doesn’t have the luxury of being coy about her motives at the moment.

(There are actually many more questions that she’d like to ask the Grounder though, but Carmilla doesn’t need to get an exhaustive list.)

“Please?” she adds, hoping it will be enough.

“Your pleading puppy face could use some improvement”, Carmilla sighs, but she does what Clarke asked for all the same: she doesn’t kill the guy. For now.

(Because since when does she listen to annoying blondes who act like a magnet for trouble?)

However, since she still has a tasty meal waiting for her in the form of a dead guy that she didn’t even have to bother killing herself – a tasty meal that is quickly cooling down –, she temporarily disposes of her current prisoner.

“Uh, Carmilla? What are you do—”

Clarke doesn’t get the chance to finish her question; she feels something yanking at her bound hands without warning and ends up on the ground for the _umpteenth fucking time_ this day.

When she finally manages to get back to a sitting position, she understands what Carmilla had been doing.

The Grounder’s hands and feet are now tied with the end of the rope that previously hung from her own hands – the rope that he used to force her to follow all morning long – and Clarke thinks she just got stuck in the most improbable situation ever.

To be fair, the Grounder has it worse since he’s forced to stay curled up in an almost fetal position, but it’s not much funnier for her either. The lack of remaining rope between their respective bounds means she can’t get back up – there is already barely any slack with her simply sitting next to her former captor – and she feels utterly helpless, not to mention ridiculous, while he glares at her and most probably curses her in his head.

So she looks away from him and straight in front of her instead, figuring staring at a tree is her best option until Carmilla is done draining the dead Grounder from his blood – given that the faint sounds alone are making her uncomfortable.

“Now, I think someone here deserves an explanation”, Carmilla says once she’s done, “you know, for all the hard work she’s had to do…”

“You _ate_ , well, _drank_ , how is that hard?” Clarke shoots back, disgust obvious on her face and in her voice.

“Don’t look at me like that. This was great edible food going to waste, I’m doing the environment a favor”, Carmilla says, confused about Clarke's reaction, as she goes to lean against a tree – entering the Grounder’s field of view in the process.

(She made sure he couldn’t see her drink. Clarke knowing who she is is more than enough to her liking, and she has to envision the possibility of her current prisoner making it through the day alive.)

“This is what I meant by ‘really hard work’”, she explains by pointing at the Grounder tied up next to Clarke. “I think I just saved you. _Again._ It’d better not become a habit!”

“Thank you”, Clarke answers – and she means it, really, because she doesn’t know where she’d have been at the end of the day otherwise. “Could you untie me now, _please_?” she adds, insisting on the word ‘please’ since it seems to make Carmilla more compliant.

“Why? It’s always nice to see young people getting close”, the latter smirks instead with fake innocence in her voice.

“He’s twice my age”, Clarke glares, really not amused.

“And you’re both junge Leute for me.”

“We’re both _what_?”

“Young”, Carmilla sighs. “I said it in English not a minute ago. Are you even more useless than you were yesterday?”

“My current position isn’t helping me think, if you know what I mean”, Clarke grumbles.

“That’s too bad”, Carmilla almost sing-songs, her teasing smirk back on her face as if it never went away in the first place – as if it belonged there all the time (and it kind of does). “Is he mute?”

“What?” Clarke asks again, blinking in confusion.

“The guy you didn’t let me kill, the one you’re sitting next to and who, weirdly enough, seems unfazed by all of this: why isn’t he saying anything?” Carmilla elaborates reluctantly. “And could you make your brain work so I can avoid talking twice more than necessary?”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “It’s not my fault if you keep jumping from one subject to another without warning! And no, he’s not mute, though he doesn’t talk much. Besides, Grounders are taught not to say a single word when they’re caught”, she says, remembering Lincoln’s silence when they had captured him.

“You could learn from him”, Carmilla sasses. “And you should, actually.”

“I won’t shut up until you untie me”, Clarke retorts with a smile she knows to be infuriating.

“You can’t really force me, can you? I could also simply put your gag back on. I could do a lot of things right now, actually… And none of them involves untying you”, Carmilla grins, predatory.

“Do you _ever_ stop flirting?!” Clarke groans, throwing her head back in annoyance.

“Why would I stop? Your reactions are quite amusing!”

“I’m sorry, inappropriate comments aren’t my thing”, Clarke glares. “But I can play that game too, you know… Nice jacket! Leather suits your personality”, she sasses.

Carmilla raises her eyebrows. “Do you like it?” she asks, perky.

Clarke is about to answer when one of the Grounder’s movements catches her attention. He’s been shifting almost since the beginning of her conversation with Carmilla; she supposed it was to find a better position but she’s now doubting this assumption, because he’s bringing his hands way too close to his jacket, and—

Clarke yanks hard on the rope as soon as she understands what is going on, ruining his attempt to get a hold of his knife (well, technically, _her_ knife). “Nice try”, she admits, “but you’ll need to be sneakier than this to fool me.”

Carmilla watches the scene with amusement, though she’s also a bit confused since she has no idea what just happened. “Tsk tsk, children”, she scolds. “It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt… Well, someone _will_ get hurt, but I prefer to be the one to do the hurting”, she grins as she goes to kneel next to Clarke and the Grounder.

“Good. Because you’ll get to have your fun soon, if you only just untie me so we can actually get to the part where I – well we – interrogate him!” Clarke snaps.

“Someone’s in a bad mood”, Carmilla observes. “And my _fun_ would include _killing_ him.”

“You say that, but he’s not dead yet… So would you just stop losing time so we can start questioning him?!”

“Why can’t we do it like that? It’s cosy”, Carmilla answers mischievously. “Hey, mute guy, which limb would you rather lose first?”

Clarke sighs. “Carmilla”, she hisses through gritted teeth.

“What? I’m letting him keep his favorite limbs!”

“ _Carmilla_!”

“WHAT? Did you want to choose for him?!”

“You’re serious”, Clarke gapes as the vampire turns to look at her, exasperated. “You’re actually serious right now”, she repeats, unable to process that information.

“What’s the problem?” Carmilla frowns.

Clarke closes her eyes and shakes her head, honestly shocked. “The fact that you don’t see what the problem is _is_ a problem in itself!”

“You don’t interrogate people by making them sit and have tea with you, you know”, Carmilla retorts sarcastically.

“Well maybe I could start by asking questions and see if he answers, before we decide to move on to the _torture_ part?”

“Oh please, go ahead, I’m not the one with an expiration date here!” Carmilla scoffs.

Clarke stretches out her arms in front of her, presenting her bound hands to the vampire. “Please?” she asks once again, finding the situation rather humiliating to say the least.

Carmilla looks thoughtful for a moment, then simply says “okay” as she grabs the rope with both hands and pulls on it roughly, efficiently breaking it in two. The Grounder stares at it and then at her with wide eyes, his neutral mask temporarily gone from his face at Carmilla’s demonstration of strength.

“This doesn’t exactly qualify as untying”, Clarke glowers.

“You’re not bound to him anymore. Isn’t that what you wanted?” Carmilla asks with her usual annoying smirk – smirk that is starting to make Clarke want to punch her.

(She has a feeling doing this would be a bad idea, though. A very bad idea.)

Debating her options, Clarke decides to take matters into her own hands. She grabs the part of the rope that is still keeping the Grounder’s hands and feet tied together, and basically sits on it to prevent him from fighting her off too much as she swiftly searches his jacket for the knife that she knows to be there.

Seconds later, she has cut her own bounds and can finally, _finally_ stretch her shoulders after hours of aching.

“That’s cheating”, Carmilla complains. “Now give me this before you hurt yourself.”

“One, we weren’t playing anything, and two, I think I’ll keep the knife. It’s not like you need a weapon anyway”, Clarke counters.

“Either you give it to me, or I take it. Your choice.”

“What do you need it for anyway?” Clarke sighs.

“Well… One, it would look great with my outfit”, Carmilla answers, mimicking as well as mocking Clarke’s voice, “and two”, she continues more seriously – almost threateningly –, “yes, we _are_ playing. By my rules. So if I were you, I’d choose wisely.”

“Come to think about it, I guess I prefer when you’re flirtatious after all”, Clarke huffs as she hands Carmilla the knife.

The latter shakes her head. “Women are so hard to satisfy”, she declares dramatically.

Clarke settles on ignoring her for the time being and switches her attention to the Grounder instead, although she keeps an eye on Carmilla who’s playing way too recklessly with the knife to her liking.

“Okay, here’s the thing: I’m going to ask the questions nicely, but if you don’t answer me, I’ll let my friend over there” – Carmilla snorts at that, but Clarke pays no attention to her – “have her way with you. And I’m fairly certain you won’t like the result”, she promises, pinning him with a menacing look to make sure he understands she’s being very serious with the threat. “So, let’s start with the basics. What’s your name?”

“Roan”, he replies reluctantly, his eyes flickering to Carmilla regularly.

“Ah. See, we’re making progress! That’s one thing you didn’t want to tell me last night. Now, who sent you after me?” Only silence answers her, and she sighs. “You’re not making this easy on yourself, you know? You’d help your case if you started talking. Because, just so we’re clear on your intentions… I think I’ve figured out why you attacked at night. You killed another Grounder right before you captured me, didn’t you? So you woke me up, because it’s easier to handle a prisoner that’s ready to move if need be. And seeing as you killed another guy only minutes ago, the logical conclusion is that there are two groups of people after me; I just have no idea who they, or you, are working for. You said someone sent you to get me, but by your attitude, it looks like that someone is not exactly friendly – I don’t see why else you’d be so _stubborn_ in your refusal to answer me. So I’m going to ask that question again, and then I’m going to lose patience. Who. Sent you. After me?”

“Okay. My turn then”, Carmilla smiles when Roan only narrows his eyes at Clarke but doesn’t give any response. “Here’s a question you’ll be more inclined to answer. Two, or three?”

“What?” Clarke asks, confused.

“Two, or three, fingers to cut?”

“WHAT?!”

“I was just kidding”, Carmilla shrugs casually.

Clarke opens her mouth to let out a dry remark about the vampire’s sense of humor, but Carmilla speaks again before she can utter a word.

“I’m cutting all ten of them”, she corrects, approaching Roan with the knife twirling between her own fingers. There’s a scary gleam in her eyes and the smirk on her face has gone from playful to predatory, which Clarke doesn’t like one bit.

“Carmilla—”

“Which one first?” the latter asks, ignoring the interruption and grabbing one of Roan’s hands. “Hmm, I’ll start with the thumbs…” she continues, licking her lips.

“I’ve been given strict orders not to tell you anything”, Roan admits to Clarke, breaking his silence as the pressure on his hand intensifies; Carmilla looks like she didn’t even hear him speak.

“Who said that?” Clarke questions, her tone sharp and demanding.

“Will she stop if I tell you?”

“Carmilla, he’s talking”, Clarke says, hoping she can stop what the vampire seems to be now deeming a very twisted game. “ _Carmilla_!”

“Fine, fine”, the latter concedes, rolling her eyes. “But could you not answer this question so I can finish what I started?” she asks Roan, then complains: “I liked you better when you were mute.”

Still crouched in front of him, she takes a step back and sighs as she lets Clarke finish the interrogation.

“Who sent you?” Clarke repeats for the third time. “Who said not to tell me anything?”

Roan narrows his eyes. “The Commander”, he replies reluctantly through his teeth.

That’s when Clarke freezes and time stops for a second.

She feels as if her brain is numb, incapable of processing what she’s just heard, but her eyes grow wide once the two simple words stop resonating through her mind and settle in instead – wide with understanding before they turn alight with fury, as time resumes passing by at normal speed.

“Lexa”, she bites out, the name both foreign and too familiar on her tongue; it’s sweet but it tastes like blood, and Clarke almost chokes on it.

“I take it you know them?” Carmilla asks with a raised eyebrow.

“What does she want?” Clarke hisses.

“She will tell you this herself”, Roan answers. “She’s waiting for you.”

“I take it you know _her_?” Carmilla asks again, feeling like she’s missing something and not particularly liking being out of the loop. It’s not that she cares – just that she prefers to be the one with all the cards in her hands. “Hey, I’m talking!”

“She has some nerve”, Clarke growls, shaking her head in anger. “No wonder she said I wouldn’t come willingly! I can’t believe her. _I can’t fucking believe her_.”

Exasperated, Carmilla gets up and walks up to Clarke who is now pacing up and down a few feet away, leaving Roan in his miserable position once more. “That’s a lot of rage you have bottled up inside of you… What did that Lexa do to you?” Acting on a hunch, she adds: “Or was it things you wish she had done… But she didn’t?”

Clarke’s eyes flash at the words and Carmilla grins. This is an unexpected turn of events if she ever experienced one, but she certainly won’t let such a great occasion pass her by – for the situation just became a _lot_ funnier and more interesting than the simple torture of a random guy.

“You two have a history, don’t you”, she says, and it’s more a statement than a question.

“It’s none of your business”, Clarke replies in a harsh tone, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her sides.

“I thought so”, Carmilla contends as her grin grows wider. “Care to share the details? Preferably the juicy ones?”

“Where is she?” Clarke asks Roan, moving around Carmilla and towering above the captive Grounder.

Roan debates his options for a second before settling for a sincere answer: at this point, it’s becoming more dangerous for both Clarke and him if he stays mute instead of telling what he knows, and lying could put them in even more jeopardy.

“Polis”, he thus simply says, and Clarke closes her eyes as a voice that’s not hers fills her head and refuses to get out despite her best attempts.

_“You should come with me to the Capital. Polis will change the way you think about us.”_

_“You already have”_ , Clarke hears herself answer. “ _She already_ had”, her mind corrects bitterly, over and over again until she can’t hear anything else.

There is a blood-streaked face painted on her eyelids, her eyes burn, and Clarke feels the betrayal as keenly as she did three months ago.

“That bad, huh?” Carmilla asks, genuinely curious.

Clarke’s voice turns determined and cold as she declares: “I changed my mind. We’re going.”

Roan’s eyes narrow again and he tilts his head a little to the side in surprise but he doesn’t make any comment, whereas Carmilla, who is starting to feel quite lost, asks: “Going _where_?”

“To Polis.”

“Yeah okay, I got that, but what city are you talking about?”

“I just told you!” Clarke huffs.

“… Wait, the city is named Polis?” Carmilla asks, frowning as she realizes she might have mixed up two languages.

“Yes!” Clarke snaps, exasperated.

“There’s a city named Polis. Okay…” Carmilla drawls. “Polis means City in Greek, you know? So the city’s name is _literally_ City. We’re going to the city of City. This has got to be one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard”, she scoffs.

“‘We’? Are you coming?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss for the world whatever is bound to happen between you and this ‘Commander’”, Carmilla winks. “It should be fun and I’m definitely _not_ letting such a golden occasion go. Also, I’d like to see what kind of morons name a city City… Even though that does sound like something the military would do – not bother finding a real name.”

“The military?” Clarke repeats, not understanding what Carmilla means.

“Isn’t Commander a grade in the military? Or is it in the Navy? Anyway, they’re all the same kind of brainwashed people”, Carmilla shrugs.

Clarke takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly through her nose in an attempt to calm herself down. “It has nothing to do with the military, and don’t ask me why her title is ‘Commander’ – I _don’t_ know. What I know is that I’m done with her political games, so I’m going, and then she and I are going to have a little explanation”, Clarke hisses through her teeth.

“Awesome”, Carmilla comments flatly, wishing Clarke would stop using so many words to say so little. “So we don’t need this one anymore, right?” she asks, pointing to Roan. “I can kill him now.”

“Actually…” Clarke sighs. “I don’t know the way to Polis, so we’re going to need him a while longer. We’re taking him as a prisoner.”

“… Seriously?! Can’t you be useful for once? Actually, are you _ever_ useful?!”

Angry and tired – so, _so_ tired –, Clarke decides against answering Carmilla; she has a feeling it wouldn’t end well if she did. “Since you’re the one with the knife, can you cut the rope so he can walk?” she asks instead, trying to focus on what is happening rather than on the revenge scenarios playing in her mind.

(There is ice and fire at the same time in her veins, and she thinks rage might be the only thing giving her enough motivation to move at the moment. Otherwise, she’d probably just lie down and sleep right then and there.)

“Nah, I’m done playing with it, so free him yourself”, Carmilla shrugs as she throws the knife to Clarke, who almost doesn’t react on time. She miraculously avoids wounding her hand though, and goes to cut the rope binding Roan’s feet.

“Try anything”, she warns, “and I’ll let Carmilla have her way with you. _Nami_?”

“Yes”, he nods curtly as he extends his legs, trying to restore blood flow in his numb limbs.

“Good. Now get up, and let’s go.”

He obeys without a word.

 

* * *

 

The walk to Polis is several hours long, and Clarke only manages to put one foot after the other at the prospect of getting her revenge for Lexa’s betrayal – which overcomes her absolute exhaustion.

She feels her ire flare up and brighter with every step she takes. How _dare_ Lexa send someone after her – someone whose mission is essentially to _abduct_ her? How dare Lexa even interfere with her life after her betrayal at the Mountain – after she left her to _die_?

Clarke grips the knife tightly, causing her knuckles to turn white regularly, and she itches to use it. She itches to inflict on Lexa as much pain as Lexa caused her; to get revenge for the Commander’s withdrawal and what Clarke was therefore forced to do. Had Lexa stayed, she wouldn’t have had to pull the lever in Mount Weather. Had Lexa stayed, she wouldn’t have spent the last three months alone in the woods despising herself, bearing the destruction of an entire civilization so her people wouldn’t have to feel that weight. Had Lexa stayed…

Had Lexa stayed, everything could have worked out just fine – the alliance, peace, _them_.

Because she could have fallen for her. She really could have.

And now, she’s hating her with a burning passion instead.

There is a slideshow of blood in front of Clarke’s eyes: Finn’s blood after she killed him, the blood of the many – _so_ many – people who died in TonDC, Dante’s blood after she pressed the trigger, Maya’s blood as it was burning her from the inside – blood that she manages to pin on Lexa one way or another –, and Clarke wonders if she’ll ever be anything other than the bringer of death again.

 _“Their blood is on_ your _hands. I’m afraid you won’t be able to wash it off this time”_ , she can hear her mother say – and Abby was right. She can’t escape it; it’s everywhere on her and inside of her, tainting everything she is and everything she touches.

She hates it and yet, as her vision and her thoughts turn red, it’s also what she craves. Blood.

Lexa’s blood.

Revenge.

 _“Jus drein jus daun”_ , she whispers, too low for anyone to hear.

 

* * *

 

Polis finally comes into view when the sun is almost starting to set. As the trees clear and Clarke first lays eyes on the city, her jaw nearly drops; the sight fills her with such emotion that she forgets for a moment why they are here.

Numerous buildings have survived the assaults of time – even though not in their entirety, for parts of them have crumbled to the ground and are now half buried behind a thick layer of moss and grass – and stand tall in front of her; giants defying both time and gravity. Clarke feels like she has been transported into one of the old movies they had on the Ark, if not for the vines and the bushes that have taken residence on the concrete walls and roads.

What holds most of her attention, though, is the gigantic tower that makes all the other buildings look ridiculous in height even when they are a dozen floors tall. It has not made it through the ages without serious damage, Clarke notices, but the simple fact that it is still standing is a small miracle in itself. More than the city, this tower is what feels surreal in the middle of the wilderness of the forest; testimony of another civilization that roamed the Earth a century ago, it stands guard over the whole heritage of that era.

There is a flame burning on top of it, proof that the city – which, by its looks, would be expected to be filled only by ghosts a hundred years old – does indeed keep sheltering human life. Clarke watches it sparkle, hypnotized by its dance for a moment; sighing softly, she marvels at the tower’s ability to remind her – even from such a distance – of how small and insignificant people are. For the first time in three months, she allows herself to feel something else than resentment and sorrow; her hands itch for paper and pencil, for this is a view she wants to make eternal.

“Hey, fake ginger, why did you stop moving?” Carmilla asks, appearing on her left and startling her.

“I was—” Clarke starts, but she stops herself and shakes her head. “No reason.”

“Are you going to stay stuck here or not? Because if you do, I’m leaving again.”

Carmilla had been wandering off regularly almost since the beginning of their walk, once she understood Clarke was too lost in her thoughts to pay any attention to her teasing. Since Roan kept behaving even in her absence, she started staying away for longer and longer periods of time, travelling with the two others only sporadically.

“We’re going into the city”, Clarke assures, then clears her throat and points to Roan with her chin. “I think it would be best if he didn’t look like a prisoner.”

“Why? He does fit the part quite well – look, he doesn’t even seem to mind”, Carmilla remarks, showing Roan’s inexpressive face with a gesture of the hand. “If I cared, I’d even find that a bit concerning”, she shrugs, “but since I don’t…”

“I’d rather not be surrounded by guards as soon as we set foot in Polis”, Clarke explains, “not to mention we could be captured before getting an audience with the Commander”, she adds, almost spitting out the title.

“Well, _you_ ’d be captured, sweetheart, not me”, Carmilla smirks.

Sighing, Clarke turns to Roan and cuts his bounds; he massages his wrists after that, glaring at her though he keeps the rest of his face neutral.

“You know the drill by now”, Clarke says coldly. “Try anything, get killed by Carmilla. So if I were you, I’d behave.”

Roan only nods in understanding and they resume walking, heading towards the first buildings on the outskirts of the city.

 *

Whatever Clarke felt when she first saw Polis, it is well and truly gone by the time they enter the city. She pays no attention to the children running in the streets or to the buildings surrounding them as they make their way to the tower, following Roan’s indications; she only seethes more and more as they near their destination, focused entirely on what is about to happen. Her knife is now hidden in her sleeve, ready for use with a flick of the wrist – she blatantly ignored the “no weapons allowed” sign as they entered Polis, causing Roan to stare at her disapprovingly and Carmilla to raise an eyebrow with an amused smile.

She could care less about either of their opinions.

“Be convincing”, she whispers to Roan as they enter the tower, causing two Grounders to turn to look at them.

“Ai gaf chichnes kom Heda in”, he tells them. “She expects me”, he continues in English as Clarke frowns at his use of Trigedasleng. She knows words and sentences, but not enough to pick it up if he tries to double-cross them.

One of the guards nods while the other starts pulling on some ropes; Clarke only understands what is happening when what looks like some sort of manually-powered elevator gets down from a hole in the ceiling.

Being lifted to the last floor in such a thing is a rather strange experience and Clarke, questioning the reliability of the system, doesn’t particularly enjoy it. She’s glad when they can finally step out of it.

“Ai lid Klark kom Skaikru in gon Heda”, Roan tells the two other guards that flank a massive door in front of them, and said door gets opened immediately.

About half of the room they step in is lit by candles; the rest is filled with shadows in the dimness of the twilight. There are two more guards and another person in a corner; apart from them, Clarke can just make out a very familiar form in front of a window – or rather, of a whole wall that doesn’t exist anymore – with her back to them before the Commander speaks, thanking Roan for his help.

Clarke hates herself for the way her body reacts to Lexa’s voice, and she hates herself even more when her first thought as the Commander turns around is that she’s as breathtakingly gorgeous as she remembered her to be.

“Clarke”, Lexa whispers. “You came willingly”, she adds as she approaches them, her voice tinged with surprise and even a bit of hope.

It almost makes Clarke sick.

She remembers all the ways she used to like how her name sounds on Lexa’s tongue, all the times she heard her speak in her soft tone – how it was never for anyone but her –, and the pleasant memories shatter to sharp spikes that rip apart her heart when _“may we meet again”_ rings into her ears instead.

“YOU BITCH!” she screams, her knife sliding into her hand easily, “I’LL KILL YOU!”

Clarke throws herself at Lexa, pushing her back and shoving the knife to her throat; she wills herself to slice into the flesh and draw blood like she’s been dreaming to, but her hand shakes and she finds out she can’t press any harder.

She can’t because this is _Lexa_ , because despite everything this is still the same person she risked her life for when the gorilla attacked them; but mostly, she can’t bring herself to harm her because Lexa is _letting her_ attempt to kill her. Her arms are at her sides and not moving; she isn’t fighting back, while Clarke knows she could disarm her in the blink of an eye. She’s simply staring at her with surprise in her gaze and a mix of something else as well – something Clarke doesn’t want to analyze, for she dreads the truths swirling in the green, glossy pools looking back at her.

She fears she might crumble underneath them if she let them through the walls she’s built around her heart.

She doesn’t get to dwell on them – or anything else – anyway because a voice that isn’t Lexa’s is barking “sis em op” and, seconds later, Clarke is pulled back roughly by the arms. The knife crashes on the floor in the process but the sound falls in deaf ears, for no one pays attention to it.

“I HATE YOU!!” she yells as two guards grip her tightly and drag her back, and she swears she means it despite her failed attempt at killing Lexa. There are hot tears in her eyes, ready to spill; she’s shaking with the force of the rage she’s letting lash out of her and she’s almost sobbing more than she’s breathing.

She hates Lexa, she screams, but she knows she hates herself even more – no matter how hard she tried, and still tries, to convince herself of the contrary.

The last thing she sees before the guards force her to turn around is Lexa’s pained expression, and the last thing she hears before she’s forced out of the room is Lexa’s voice, rough and commanding and a stark contrast to how young she looks in that moment.

“Sou nou bash em op!”

( _“Do_ not _harm her!”_ Clarke translates in her head, but she doesn’t understand why Lexa would say such a thing right after she tried to kill her.)

(Or rather, she wishes there was absolutely no part of her that understood why.)

 

* * *

 

“Make sure they lock her up in one of the spare rooms and not in prison”, Lexa orders without ever looking away from the spot where she last saw Clarke. “And tell the guards outside to bring Roan back to me.”

“Yes, Heda.” Titus nods once then hurries after the guards.

The doors get closed behind him and Lexa finally allows herself to release the breath she’s been holding since Clarke first entered the room. She closes her eyes, fighting away tears she will _not_ let fall even when there is no one to witness them, and lets her shoulders sag a bit. There is no need to fight to keep a straight spine during the rare times she doesn’t have to.

“Rough day?” asks a cheeky voice behind her.

Lexa draws her sword as she turns around swiftly, only to find a young woman about her age half-sitting, half-lying on her throne – with her legs carelessly thrown above one armrest and a mocking smirk plastered on her face. She recognizes her as the third person to enter the room with Clarke and Roan, someone whose existence Lexa had almost forgotten until now.

“Sitting in the Commander’s throne is a felony that will cost you your life”, she hisses through gritted teeth. She has no patience left for that day – a day that feels like it has stretched forever already.

“The Commander’s throne isn’t even comfortable. It isn’t worth killing for”, Carmilla shrugs. Her smirk only widens as Lexa’s eyes spark with outrage, and she doesn’t move an inch when the Commander marches to her – seemingly ready to carry out with her threat. Her time in Polis has been highly entertaining so far and the most fun she’s had in years, if not _decades_ , and she fully intends for it to stay that way.

“Yet you will die for it”, Lexa assures as she runs a sword through Carmilla.

As she _tries_ to run a sword through Carmilla.

Because Carmilla isn’t there anymore.

The Commander freezes on the spot.

“Looking for me?”

Lexa turns around even faster than the first time; her eyes land easily on Carmilla, who’s casually leaning against a wall at the other side of the room.

“How did you move so fast?” she questions harshly, sounding confident as always but feeling like there’s something she doesn’t understand happening in front of her eyes.

“How do birds fly?”

Lexa’s eyes narrow. “They use their wings.”

“Well, I used my legs”, Carmilla sighs.

“But you cannot run forever”, Lexa states as she strides to Carmilla, then forces her to move back with the tip of her sword.

“I never said I could. I actually prefer to sit, hence why I was on your… Throne”, Carmilla answers with disdain for the wooden chair that is dared to be deemed a throne by the Grounders.

“And what will you do now?” Lexa asks with a dangerously low voice as they reach the gaping hole in the wall opposite the door.

Carmilla is inches away from falling, yet she seems entirely unfazed. She even grins as she looks at the fall that awaits her, and Lexa’s feeling that she’s not been made aware of some rules of whatever game Carmilla is playing only intensifies.

“I’m going to fly.”

Carmilla opens her arms wide and lets herself fall back; Lexa sees her grin until the darkness of the night swallows her.

No one can survive such a fall, so Lexa tells herself the young woman was not only strange but also clearly insane. She barely has time to take a breath though, before—

“It’s _really_ not comfortable”, she hears a voice – a voice that is starting to become very familiar – complain behind her.

That’s when she becomes sure that she’s _definitely_ missing something (… and it’s also when she starts doubting her ability to kill that annoying dark-haired woman).

“And how did you do _that_?” Lexa asks, planting herself in front of her throne – a throne in which Carmilla is sitting again, for a reason that is currently beyond her understanding. This should not, this should _not_ be possible. She saw her jump only seconds ago.

“How do fish breathe underwater?”

“Stop answering my questions with other questions.”

“Stop asking stupid questions.”

“How do you know Clarke?”

“Actually… Stop asking questions altogether. And put that toy back where it belongs, it’s really not polite to speak to someone while threatening their life”, Carmilla says sarcastically, showing how little she cares about whatever danger Lexa thinks she is to her with her sword.

“Who are you?” the Commander asks, ignoring everything Carmilla just said.

“Carmilla.”

“This is not what I meant. Although I think I should have rather asked: _what_ are you?”

“Bored.”

“Again, not what I asked”, Lexa bites out.

“Still the only answers you’re going to get, sweetie”, Carmilla smiles.

“I do not know the word you referred to me as, but I do believe I would not like it if I did.”

“You look like there are lots of things you don’t like”, Carmilla says as she points to Lexa’s frown for emphasis. “Clarke being the exception, of course.”

“What do you know of Clarke?” Lexa interrogates.

“I know that if a girl tried to kill me, my first reaction wouldn’t be to offer her a room to stay in…” Carmilla sasses, answering Lexa’s unvoiced question – how much she knows about the Commander’s relationship with Clarke – instead of the one she really uttered.

“Why are you here? What do you want?”

“I’m here because angry pants wanted to come… and try to kill you, apparently. Which is why I’d like to know what’s the story here – and _please_ tell me it’s not some plain old boring lovers’ quarrel”, Carmilla replies, rolling her eyes – though she doesn’t miss the almost imperceptible shift in Lexa’s expression at the word ‘lovers’, which makes her smirk. That at least confirms once and for all what she suspected since the Commander’s name was first mentioned in the woods: Clarke and her have a history, even if the issue seems to run deeper than this.

Lexa envisions, just for a second, to make another attempt on Carmilla’s life for her impudence, but she knows it would be pointless. Killing someone who can jump from a tower and reappear in the same room only moments later seems complicated, if not entirely impossible.

So she settles for pursing her lips and staring Carmilla down instead. Since the situation is starting to feel unusually awkward for her, she’d at least appreciate it if she could make the other woman less at ease too.

“Well?” Carmilla asks, raising an eyebrow when she understands she won’t get a response if she doesn’t insist.

It doesn’t have any effect though because the Commander only continues glaring at her, set on keeping doing just that until she figures out her next move. Everyone Lexa knows – except for Clarke – would have gotten uncomfortable by now, but not Carmilla. The fact that this young woman stays completely unaffected is running on the Commander’s nerves, especially since she doesn’t particularly know how to react in a situation like this one. She’s not used to being defied in such a way.

(Or, well, when she is, she usually kills the person, but it’s an option she unfortunately does not have at the moment.)

“Oh, you want to play this game?” Carmilla chuckles when she notices what Lexa is doing. “Okay, we can play. You’ll get tired before me!”

And so they indeed start staring at each other, barely blinking and waiting for one of them to break eye contact. They both know it would be a sign of weakness – of submission.

From amusing at first, this contest for power quickly becomes boring for Carmilla. She’s barely even focused; sure, her gaze doesn’t stop meeting Lexa’s, but she’s not really looking. She’s thinking instead, mainly struggling to decide if she sticks around – because Clarke and Lexa are really entertaining, most of the time – or if she tries her luck somewhere else as soon as the next day.

She could also kill Lexa. She knows it would be the easy way out, but she’s leaning towards staying and she’d rather not see most of her expected fun die with the Commander. Besides, since she’s showed some of her abilities to Lexa already – deciding amusement prevailed on anonymity for the time being –, she might as well take advantage of it for as long as she can.

 *

Two or three minutes later, willing to end this stupid stare showdown but entirely unwilling to lose, Carmilla sighs. “I have all the time in the world, you know. Literally.”

A few seconds tick by before Lexa asks “How old are you?” in a rather soft tone; at least much softer than it had been since the beginning of their conversation. Her words are curious instead of demanding, and there’s something else in her voice too – something Carmilla can’t pinpoint exactly, but that leads the vampire to _really_ look into Lexa’s eyes.

She wasn’t expecting what she finds there once she digs a little: a lifetime of suffering hiding in their depths, matching the one Carmilla knows to be reflected in her own eyes.

Too much pain for such a young human being.

“How old are _you_?” she asks, frowning.

“I’ve seen twenty-one summers. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s not what I asked. What is your real age?”

“What is yours?” Lexa shoots right back.

Carmilla dismisses the question easily. “You kind of lose track after a while. How many lives have you lived?”

Lexa blinks in surprise. “Chit yu get in hashta Heda kom Trikru bosh sonraun?”

“Shit you get in hashtag what?!” Carmilla half-exclaims, half-enquires with wide eyes.

“You do not speak the language of the clans”, Lexa notes. “Are you Skaikru?”

“Am I what now?”

“From the Sky People”, Lexa translates.

“Oh, you mean, from wherever in space your blonde lady killer comes from? No”, Carmilla scoffs.

“Then who are you?” Lexa demands to know.

“I’m Carmilla. I thought we’d gone through that already!”

“This is _again_ not what I asked”, Lexa hisses through her teeth, glowering at Carmilla with her jaw set. “Where do you come from and how do you know about the Commander’s lives?”

She starts worrying about potential threats. Things were highly unusual so far but they seemed to involve only one person with strange powers; now she wonders if such a people she knows nothing about could menace the clans. She does hope it is not the case – she faces enough issues with Skaikru and the internal politics of the Coalition as it is – but she cannot not acknowledge the eventuality.

Of course, evaluating the situation would be much easier if Carmilla deigned to answer her questions.

Instead, the latter just raises an eyebrow. “Sensitive topic?”

“Answer me”, Lexa growls.

“Do you truly want me to tell you where I come from, or do you want an answer that you can actually make sense of?”

“What do you mean?”

“Simple. I come from Styria, Austria.”

“Where is that?” Lexa frowns.

“Do you understand what I meant, now?”

“Yes. Where is that?”

“In Europe.”

“I do not know this word either.”

“It’s across the ocean”, Carmilla sighs. “I’m not really keen on explaining the entire world’s geography right now. Would you look away?”

Confused, Lexa simply narrows her eyes.

“You’re still staring at me”, Carmilla elaborates.

“Yes”, Lexa confirms even though it is entirely unnecessary. “Did your people come with you or did they stay on the other side of the ocean?”

“This is not an invasion”, Carmilla states, reading through the lines and avoiding responding to one of the rare questions that can hurt her – even though she knows it wasn’t Lexa’s goal –, for she has been desperately alone for a century.

“What do you want then?”

“Right now? The same thing you do: sleep. For my part, not with Clarke, though”, Carmilla teases, “even if I have to admit flirting with her is amusing.”

“Get out”, Lexa snarls, because she is done playing Carmilla’s game now that she got the information she wanted. She knows the other woman could be lying, but she also saw the flash of hurt in her eyes when she mentioned her people, and it answered her better than her words. So since she can’t kill Carmilla, Lexa would at least like not to have to bear her annoying presence for the time being.

“Hmm, touché”, Carmilla smirks.

“Get. Out”, Lexa repeats, her voice as sharp as the sword she’s still holding in her hand.

“So it _is_ some sort of cursed star-crossed lovers thing, huh?” Carmilla sighs. “At least this time, it’s literally true.”

“Get out”, Lexa hisses for the third time; even if she didn’t understand every word in Carmilla’s sentence, she got the general meaning.

“Should I try to kill you to have my own room too?”

“Gon we”, Lexa answers with hardly controlled anger, falling back into Trigedasleng by force of habit.

“Gibberish again”, Carmilla points out.

“GO. AWAY”, Lexa repeats in English, raising her voice.

“This is getting boring and repetitive”, Carmilla yawns, then swiftly extends her arm and waves her hand; Lexa’s eyes switch to it by reflex, used to assessing threats posed by sudden movements. “And I win”, Carmilla smirks. “I’ll see you again soon then!”

She winks and, a second later, Lexa is facing an empty throne – Carmilla disappearing so suddenly that the Commander visibly flinches. She scans the room only to find that she is really alone this time, and she wonders how it is possible for Carmilla to do such a thing – but she has more important issues to worry about, so the thought is quickly pushed to the back of her mind.

Relaxing slightly, Lexa puts her sword back in its sheath, then goes to pick up Clarke’s knife and secures it in her own belt.

She takes a deep breath and blinks away the tears that start to form in her eyes again. She won’t let them fall; not now, not ever.

Clarke may hate her, but this is not important.

She is alive and safe, and it is all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Shof op.” = “Be quiet.”  
> “Nami?” = “Got it?”  
> “Junge Leute” (German) = “Young people”  
> “Polis” (Greek) = “City”  
> “Ai gaf chichnes kom Heda in.” = “I seek a conversation [an audience] with the Commander.”  
> “Ai lid Klark kom Skaikru in gon Heda.” = “I bring Clarke from the Sky People to the Commander.”  
> “Chit yu get in hashta Heda kom Trikru bosh sonraun?” = “What do you know about the multiple lives of Trikru’s Commander?”


	3. Part I: Black - Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life got in the way and writing this fic became impossible for a while... We're back at it though! The updates should be more regular from now on.  
> Also, the general notes have been updated with some more information about the fic that could be useful to know.  
> \----------  
> “Life is not a problem to be solved, but a reality to be experienced.” - Soren Kierkegaard

“Sou nou komba raun mou.”

“So now… combat rainbow. Sure. Gibberish really doesn’t make sense, you know”, Carmilla sighs. She’s facing the guards in front of Clarke’s room and their raised weapons make their message much clearer than their words: she should stay where she is. “Are you even speaking or just throwing around random words?”

The guards don’t move an inch and don’t answer either, which instantly makes Carmilla want to turn them into her dinner. She is _not_ going to ruin an occasion to mock a locked-up Clarke by freeing her though, so she forces herself to be patient and tries to find a solution that does not include dead people.

Which means using diplomacy – something that is everything but her strong suit, and is even harder to find in yourself when you don’t understand a word the idiots in front of you are saying. “Let me in”, she insists.

“Bants.”

“Oh, never mind”, Carmilla grumbles as she turns around and retraces her steps. As soon as she rounds the corner, she opts for the easy solution and simply teleports into Clarke’s room – hoping not to bump into any furniture in the process.

And, thankfully, she doesn’t.

The fact that the place is ridiculously big certainly helps, no doubt there. When Lexa said to give Clarke a room, she actually meant a freaking _suite_ , Carmilla notes with a tinge of envy.

“I clearly underestimated your flirting techniques”, the vampire remarks, incredulous.

Clarke, startled by Carmilla’s voice behind her, gets up from the giant bed she was sitting on and turns around to face her. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a girl teleport anywhere without being interrogated?”

“Fine. No questions. Let me out, _please_ ”, Clarke says through gritted teeth, her tone more demanding than pleading. She’s been yelling and knocking on the door and trying to find a way out for over two hours now without any success whatsoever, and she’s hardly in the best mood ever.

“As much as I’d like to have this bed all to myself, I’d rather you don’t go nuts out there again”, Carmilla dismisses, coming closer to the bed she’s clearly eyeing with longing in her gaze.

“Why do you even care?” Clarke frowns.

“Oh I absolutely don’t, it’ll just be much easier to get things from _the Commander_ through you, obviously”, Carmilla sasses – though she is in fact serious.

“Shut up”, Clarke shoots right back.

“There go the manners again”, Carmilla sighs. “So what did she do to you to make you want to go as far as _killing_ her? Though your attempt clearly sucked. And you should have gone for the jugular directly, slicing all the way just makes a mess”, she states matter-of-factly as she jumps on the bed then bounces on it with obvious pleasure.

“Thanks for the tip”, Clarke mutters. “What are you doing?” she glares, pointedly ignoring the Lexa-related question.

“Enjoying a bed for the first time in a loooong while”, Carmilla almost purrs, closing her eyes and revelling in the feeling of soft furs underneath her instead of the cold hard ground.

“And why are you doing this _in my room_ exactly?”

“Well, bothering _you_ from another room would be more complicated, wouldn’t it? Plus, Captain Raccoon didn’t give me one. She has a type, apparently.”

“What?” Clarke asks, rubbing at her eyes then at her temples and wishing Carmilla would just go away – because annoyance and anger rarely mix that well.

“Your girlfriend didn’t give me a room”, Carmilla restates. “You know, the one you inefficiently tried to kill with a knife and longing looks… What was that for, anyway? You’re always the one who cringes when _I_ want to kill people”, she points out, almost offended.

“She’s _not_ my girlfriend!” Clarke thunders, the palm of her hand slamming roughly against one of the posts of the canopy bed. She’s in no mood to talk about Lexa at the moment, much less to be teased about her.

“Well, at least she was”, Carmilla shrugs.

“No”, Clarke growls.

“Or maybe not indeed, given the amount of unresolved sexual tension”, Carmilla contemplates. “So, again: what did she do to you?”

“And I’m the one who talks too much”, Clarke comments sarcastically, trying to switch to another topic to avoid the one she really, _really_ does not want to address.

“Wait… Or is this what foreplay looks like between teenagers these days?” Carmilla asks, ignoring Clarke entirely.

“Carmilla—”

“No, by the look on your face, you don’t want to get laid at the moment – it would probably do you good, though. I’m just saying”, Carmilla continues as if she didn’t hear Clarke’s interruption. “So what is it, then? Did she cheat on you?”

“Carmilla—”

“Nah, too obvious. Given the type of revenge you seek… Did she kill someone you cared about?”

Clarke closes her eyes, feeling memories of the night she ended Finn’s life come back to the front of her mind. She remembers the blood on her hands as he drew his last breath, the tears on Raven’s face and the cracks in her scream as she understood what Clarke had done, and it makes her nauseous just like every time she can’t avoid thinking about it. It’s easy to pin his death on Lexa, so easy…

Carmilla’s voice becomes a blur as Clarke struggles to contain the flashes of pain in her chest, without much success. She’s too exhausted to force everything back in and to hold it inside; she had to do that way too much in just one day already and her mind is screaming for a rest. The sometimes serious, sometimes stupid theories Carmilla is making up on the spot are worsening her state, sneaking into her every crack and reopening old wounds that have left a deep scar in her mind – or haven’t even started to heal yet.

“Did she try to make you take a bath?” Carmilla smirks though Clarke can’t see it, her eyes still tightly shut. (She’s already in ruins, yet she’s on the verge of crumbling again.) “Because in this case, I’d have to take her side.”

“Carmilla—” Clarke tries to plead one last time, but in vain.

“Wait, you talked about political games in the woods… Did she make a deal you didn’t approve of?” Carmilla tries, and Emerson’s voice overlays hers in Clarke’s ears.

_“You made the right choice, Commander.”_

It’s the last straw, and Clarke breaks.

“SHE LEFT ME TO DIE!!!” she screams with such violence that Carmilla jumps slightly.

Bile shoots up in her throat and she clasps her hand over her mouth in hopes of avoiding retching; she feels tears streak her mud-covered cheeks but she can’t even find the strength to wipe at them.

The memories of the Mountain are loose, seeping back into every cell of her body; they’re devouring her mind as voraciously as a wildfire and Clarke fears there will be nothing left of her in its wake.

“Well, for a dead person, you sure do talk a lot then… Usually”, Carmilla comments.

“What?” Clarke manages to croak. It’s a reflex more than anything else; she’s not entirely sure she wants to know what Carmilla means – this conversation has lasted way too long to her liking already, and she prays for it to stop.

“You look very much alive to me”, Carmilla shrugs.

“I—” Clarke hiccups when she finally understands the underlying question. She doesn’t want to explain, doesn’t want to think about Mount Weather at all. She just wants to lie down and forget.

“Cat got your tongue?” Carmilla asks, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t remember eating it though…”

“Long story”, Clarke whispers as she fights away her sobs, desperately searching for a way out of this conversation.

“I think it’s trying to get out”, Carmilla notes, pointing at the tears now crashing on the floor regularly.

“I can’t”, Clarke rasps, shaking her head as she knots her hands together, nails digging into flesh so hard that they’re almost drawing blood. The physical pain makes her feel like she still has a semblance of control over herself; it keeps her grounded.

“Oh sure, keep telling yourself that, it seems to work incredibly well for you”, Carmilla observes sarcastically.

Clarke opens her mouth to answer but she can’t find anything to retort, because Carmilla is actually right. She spent the last three months alone in the woods with the weight of every decision she made and of every life she ended inside of her, trying to bury it as deep as she could because she hoped it would help her heal, but she feels just as broken as she did when she left Camp Jaha – if not worse. The idea of saying out loud the things that haunt her is terrifying though, and she doesn’t know if she has enough strength left to take this step.

But then again, she would have a hard time finding someone better than Carmilla to talk to. There are little to zero chances the vampire would ever consider her as a hero like her people do; and having to kill people to drink their blood, Carmilla might have useful advice to come to terms with decisions one must make to survive.

(At least, Clarke hopes so.)

(Truth be told, she would have been more convinced by her own reasoning if she didn’t also witness Carmilla threatening to torture a prisoner for fun; still, she’s a better alternative than any of her people – or than Grounders who try to capture her.)

Defeated and broken, Clarke lets her wounds open wide and bleed out through words as she sits on the bed again. “After we landed, we accidentally started a war…” she starts, figuring she might as well tell everything from the beginning if she doesn’t want to lose Carmilla midway.

She can’t continue though, because the vampire cuts her off and tries really hard to suppress a snort. “ _Accidentally_?”

“Some of our flares fell on a Grounder village we didn’t even know existed”, Clarke explains. “So they started attacking, and we tried to defend ourselves as well as we could.”

“Humans”, Carmilla mutters, rolling her eyes.

“Can you not interrupt me after every sentence? It’s hard enough as it is”, Clarke glares, wiping her tears.

“I’ll try”, Carmilla simply says.

So Clarke takes a deep breath and, this time, she doesn’t leave anything untold. She describes everything that happened to her on the Ground, details every horrendous decision she had to make – _everything_ until she marched to war with Lexa to rescue their people trapped inside the Mountain.

(Well, everything but the kiss they shared, because Carmilla doesn’t need to know about that.)

She needs to pause for a while and to gather her strength before she can finally tell about Lexa’s betrayal – the decision that led the army to turn around and leave her alone to face Mount Weather’s door. It’s the main issue but also the most sensitive subject, so she rapidly brushes it off; she doesn’t delve into the specifics, for she knows she couldn’t bear to.

(And she doesn’t say one word about how it _felt_ , but she fears her face betrayed it all the same.)

There’s a giant lump in her throat as she then forces herself to quickly mention how the war ended – how they found a way in and how she uselessly bargained Dante’s life for her people’s; how Bellamy symbolically helped her pull the lever that irradiated the Mountain, when the decision was hers all along.

Even if she keeps it short, Clarke feels like she is living everything again and it brings the waves of nausea back, crashing over her and forcing her to take deep breaths to try to calm down. It’s even worse than before she started speaking; she really thinks she is going to vomit for a moment, but thankfully she pulls through with only the bitter taste of bile on her tongue.

Still, she decides that talking definitely _doesn’t_ take a weight off someone’s shoulders, because she doesn’t feel like it helped _at all_  – more like the contrary.

And of course, Carmilla makes everything even worse.

“I don’t get it. How were the first three hundred people you killed – the Grounders at your, uh, dropshit – different than those Mountain guys?”

“They were warriors and I had no choice. There were children inside Mount Weather, children I killed in cold blood”, Clarke clarifies, swallowing thickly. She’s on the verge of tears again, and she doesn’t know how they haven’t spilled already.

“Sounds to me like you didn’t have a choice there either”, Carmilla shrugs.

“It was never supposed to end like this! It was a rescue mission, not a ‘take out an entire civilization’ kind of operation! If—”

“Three hundred people hardly make a civilization”, Carmilla mutters, interrupting Clarke.

“Yet they were one!” the latter shouts, and there’s distress in her voice.

Carmilla frowns, totally unable to find any logic in Clarke’s reasoning. “So you’re feeling guilty for what exactly? Putting an end to a tradition of abducting, torturing and murdering other people?”

“There had to be another way than _killing_ them!”

“Oh sure, did you try to make them dance the macarena?” Carmilla sasses, rolling her eyes. “But yeah, you could have made a deal with them too – the bone marrow stuff and all. Offering parts of yourselves to people who don’t give a shit about you sounds like a really good idea”, she deadpans. “That sure makes for a long and healthy relationship…”

“None of this was even supposed to be a question”, Clarke bites out, “because we were supposed to have an army with us. We _had_ an army with us until _Lexa_ took their deal”, she almost spits out in anger. From hurt and sadness, she feels herself switch back to rage.

“Hmm. A leader had to choose between their people’s lives, and another’s. Apart from the fact that it’s hardly even a choice, didn’t you do the same? Multiple times?”

“Yes, but—” Clarke starts, struggling to come to terms with the validity of the point Carmilla made. It also reminds her of how much of a monster she has herself become, and it’s not a thought she likes to dwell on. “It’s different. We were in an alliance, and she _betrayed_ me”, she finally opposes.

“And if _you_ had been offered the same deal, wouldn’t you have taken it? Despite whatever was going on between you two at the time?”

The question takes Clarke completely off-guard. It’s something she never really considered, but she knows the answer without having to think about it at all. She knows the answer because she would do whatever it takes to save her people, and any consequence would be collateral damage.

Carmilla’s words force her to face truths she’d rather escape, yet take residence in her mind and refuse to get out. She did choose her people over another one at Mount Weather too, but in her case it cost more lives than it saved. She would make the same decision as many times as needed, yet it doesn’t change the maths behind it. She killed three hundred to save less than fifty, while Lexa saved countless lives by condemning those fifty to a(n almost) certain death. Lexa, whose _duty_ is to serve and protect her people, when Clarke is everything but the elected Chancellor.

Lexa, who was right when she said _“what you would have done”_ , no matter how hard Clarke wanted to pretend she would have chosen differently – because honor doesn’t weigh much when lives are thrown in the balance, and she never would have made Lexa her priority either.

For the first time in three months, Clarke is forced to consider the situation through Lexa’s eyes, and she realizes she can’t blame everything on her so easily anymore.

It doesn’t make any of what happened hurt less though – the betrayal, the blood on her hands –, so since anger is easy and familiar, Clarke keeps holding onto this life raft. It’s the only thing that has allowed her to carry on since the Mountain, and she doesn’t know who she is without it at the moment.

For the time being though, as she tries to force everything back in to dull the pain again, what she feels the most is tired.

“I don’t know how to bear my decisions anymore”, Clarke admits instead of answering Carmilla’s question.

“Oh don’t count on me to give you some deep psychological advice, human emotions aren’t my thing at all… But you should really stop wallowing in your self-pity and think about moving on”, Carmilla sighs, exasperated.

“How do you move on from killing people?” Clarke chuckles humorlessly. She fears the lives she took will haunt her until the day she dies.

“Usually, I drink their blood… I’m a vampire, genius!” Carmilla exclaims, rolling her eyes.

Huffing, she gets up and starts opening all the doors she can see, hoping to find another room with a bed on which wouldn’t be sitting an annoying and awfully smelly girl, but she stumbles upon two closets and a bathroom instead.

“Look! This is a bathtub”, Carmilla says as she opens the door wide and points inside the room. “People usually use those to clean themselves. Maybe you just need to wash it all off!”

“Right now, I just want to sleep”, Clarke mumbles, completely drained of energy in the wake of her conversation with Carmilla. She wants to close her eyes and forget it ever happened, for she feels like it hurt her a lot more than it helped her in the end.

“Me too”, Carmilla sighs, “but you stink and half of the bed is wet with your tears. I guess I’ll try my luck elsewhere then… Try not to get smothered to death by the furs while I’m gone”, she grumbles.

Clarke vaguely thinks about asking Carmilla if she cares, but her eyes are closing by their own will and she lies down on the bed instead, not bothering to either undress or cover herself.

She’s already asleep when Carmilla teleports out of the room mere seconds later.

 

* * *

 

Lexa rounds the corner of the street in silence, deliberately choosing a path that leads her away from the tower she lives in. She has been walking in the darkness of the night for close to an hour already, but she can’t find it in herself to go back to her quarters just yet. She takes comfort in the quiet of the city, breathing fresh and chilly air that helps her clean her mind – helps her take a break from thinking about politics and threats and death; a break from having the Commander’s mask on her face. She had to put it on again after her discussion with Carmilla, when the guards brought Roan back soon after the strange woman left, and she had a singularly hard time maintaining it on her face.

Which she knows is because the only person filling her thoughts at the moment was Clarke – bloody and bruised and emaciated Clarke whom she couldn’t worry about just yet, because she had to deal with the rather urgent situation instead.

Hence also why she only absent-mindedly listened to Roan’s apology for his rather cowardly escape when Clarke took her knife out – then again, she didn’t really care about any part of it either. She already knew she wouldn’t hold it against him; for his part though, he had no way of knowing that the Commander would be more glad to have Clarke in Polis under any circumstances than pissed about an attempt on her life that he didn’t prevent from happening.

That, and the fact that he is much more valuable to her alive and free than dead or arrested, of course. Especially in the near future.

(Besides, in the eventuality of her death, his escape would have been a smart move – both for him and for her people. So she doesn’t really blame him.)

They didn’t waste time once he was through with his apology. Both aware that they were racing against the clock, they quickly started to delve into the matter at hand, discussing strategies and war tactics for over two hours before Lexa sent him away again on another mission – one that he would have trouble failing, this time.

When she was finally left alone in the throne room, she couldn’t find it in her to go back to her bedroom to get some well-deserved rest. She feared sleep would escape her anyway: her thoughts relentlessly went back to Clarke, preventing her from shutting down her mind enough to drift off to slumber. So she settled for a quiet, soothing walk into the empty streets of Polis.

*

Lexa is so lost in her thoughts when she rounds the next corner that it takes her several seconds to realize there is someone sitting on a half-crumbled wall on her left.

“You again?” she frowns when she recognizes the person.

“What?” Carmilla blinks in confusion as she comes back to her surroundings instead of looking at the stars. She smirks though when her eyes land on Lexa, who has stopped a few feet away from her. “Oh, Captain. I told you I’d see you soon!”

“Apparently, you were right”, Lexa nods. “What are you doing here?”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Carmilla shoots right back. “Given your rank, or status, whatever, I’d have thought you wouldn’t go anywhere without a small escort of guys built like tanks.”

“I do not need such protection”, Lexa replies matter-of-factly. “I’m capable of defending myself on my own.”

There is no trace of fear or doubt in her voice, Carmilla notes, which seems highly unusual for someone so young – but then again, she held her sword like a trained warrior during their first conversation.

“Even against me?” the vampire can’t help but tease. She raises her eyebrows as she waits for the response, genuinely wondering whether Lexa thinks she could hold her own against her.

The Commander dodges the question easily. “You’re not supposed to be in Polis”, she points out, “or anywhere on my land.”

“I haven’t seen any ‘no Carmilla’ sign around here”, the vampire shrugs.

Lexa’s eyes narrow as she remembers exactly why Carmilla irked her during their first conversation. “You are inclined to purposefully misinterpret my words.”

“Do you always speak twentieth century English?”

“I don’t understand.”

“‘Twas the good ol’ days, milady!” Carmilla exclaims theatrically, and Lexa looks at her as if she just lost her mind right there and then. “Okay, you didn’t understand that either, apparently… So I guess it’s just weird English”, Carmilla almost whines.

“The Sky People’s way of speaking is somewhat different from mine”, Lexa remarks, “and yours is similar to theirs. Why is that?”

“Well I suppose that, technically, our English is the old English now. The one from, you know… Before.”

“Before?” Lexa enquires.

“Before the war”, Carmilla elaborates.

“Which one?” Lexa huffs.

Carmilla laughs at the Commander’s question. “ _The_ war, the one with the nuclear bombs!” she answers, gesturing to show the half-destroyed buildings around them, barely visible in the moonlight.

“You speak as if you witnessed it”, Lexa notes.

“Would you believe me if I said I did?”

“Before today I would have said no, but I did not believe people could survive a fall from the tower either. No one ever did before you.”

“How many _tried_ to jump from up there?” Carmilla asks with wide eyes, wondering if humans managed to become even more stupid after she stopped meshing with them over a century ago.

“None”, Lexa answers with a little smile.

Carmilla briefly makes eye contact then, just long enough to get the confirmation she’s searching for, and she can’t help but mirror the Commander’s expression when she pictures Lexa pushing people from the hole in the wall – what she had probably intended to do with her too earlier.

“What did they do?” Carmilla asks, her interest sparked.

“It is better not to defy my authority”, Lexa simply states.

Carmilla’s smile grows wider and she even chuckles a little as she gets up; silence wraps around them after that as they start walking together, falling into step. There’s an ease between them that they both didn’t expect and find rather surprising given how their first conversation turned out, but they don’t fight it. They are two shadows as they slip into the darkness between the buildings, simply enjoying the relaxing feeling of a walk under the stars.

Lexa is the one who breaks the silence, several minutes later, with a question Carmilla knew to be coming again. “How did you meet Clarke?”

Most of it is genuine curiosity, but Carmilla understands it is also in part a threat assessment; she was, after all, accompanying Clarke when the latter made her (poor) attempt on Lexa’s life. Everything the Commander does or says seems to be layered, political and personal matters always entwined together.

Which is why, unlike Clarke – who is currently in no mental place to do so –, Carmilla thinks she understands what the deal Lexa took at Mount Weather cost her.

She also knows what it is like to be perceived as a monster by the one you love and thus, before she even realizes it, a part of her starts empathizing with Lexa. Hence why she answers the question honestly this time instead of dismissing it.

“Oh, the usual: she tried to kill me, I saved her life, so since I was bored I tagged along”, Carmilla shrugs.

“She tried to kill _you_ but _you_ saved her life?” Lexa questions, confused.

“Yeah, we got interrupted by a random guy who attacked her. And I actually saved her life twice, because she managed to get captured the next day too”, Carmilla grumbles, rolling her eyes.

“Azgeda”, the Commander hisses, her hand clenching into a fist around the hilt of her sword.

“Azgewhat?”

Lexa shakes her head. “It’s complicated”, she sighs. Stopping and turning to her late-night walk companion who imitates her, she then whispers an earnest “thank you” that takes Carmilla completely by surprise.

“What for?” she asks by reflex more than anything else.

“Protecting Clarke until Roan could find her”, the Commander replies quietly.

That’s when Carmilla starts noticing how Lexa always goes straight to the point in her answers and in her sentences in general – something she greatly appreciates after spending two days with Clarke –, and also when she realizes they could actually get along quite well, for they share a certain number of similarities.

(She forcefully denies she’s getting attached to any of those stupid humans, though. They’re a temporary distraction; nothing more, nothing less.)

“Yeah well, I almost killed him too”, Carmilla shrugs.

Lexa smiles a little. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Oh, you’ll thank your knife-happy friend for that! He’d be dead if it were only for me”, Carmilla says, sounding offended at the idea that she might have been the one to decide to spare Roan.

Lexa nods. “Clarke always wants to save everyone”, she comments softly – so softly that it’s verging on tenderly.

Carmilla has a golden occasion to throw a teasing remark Lexa’s way yet she doesn’t grab it; she lets it go instead. She couldn’t tell if it’s because of the pain that seeped into the Commander’s voice at the mention of Clarke or simply because she’s tired, but she doesn’t poke fun at Lexa.

“She won’t hate you forever, you know” is what comes out of her mouth instead – and she’s the first one surprised to hear herself utter such words.

“She might”, Lexa answers, and Carmilla is hit by the sudden realization that the Commander is fully prepared for this eventuality; but even then, she’d go to great lengths to protect Clarke whenever she has to.

This, all of this, reminds Carmilla too much of her own story to stay completely unaffected by it, and she finds herself giving Lexa advice before she fully registers what she is doing.

“Your girlfriend is a pig-headed child only seeing in black and white for now – well, mostly black at the moment –, so you need to shake her up a bit, force her to face the facts. If you don’t mind all the yelling”, she shrugs, “and the crying…” she sighs a moment later, “and the insults…”

Lexa thanks her with a nod and simply says: “I will try that.”

They keep walking in silence for a while longer after that, and part ways at the next intersection without even consulting each other – Lexa going back to the tower while Carmilla turns towards the woods. She itches for some hunting since she has no place to sleep.

She’s almost out of the city when she realizes she could have asked Lexa to give her a freaking room.

 

* * *

 

It’s daylight when Clarke wakes up groggily, her limbs half-entangled in the furs on the bed; she supposes her sleeping self tried – rather inefficiently – to slide under the covers during the night.

She’s disoriented for a moment as she tries to recall where she is and why she slept in a bed instead of in a tree or on the ground, but everything comes back to her quite quickly, starting with her conversation with Carmilla. It surprises her that she didn’t get awoken by nightmares after discussing the events of Mount Weather so openly; she figures exhaustion managed to really shut down her brain for once and enjoys this small respite. She feels almost well-rested after her dreamless night – not entirely dreamless, for Clarke knows it would be biologically impossible, but not remembering any of them is largely good enough for her.

She reluctantly leaves the bed, stretching and yawning profusely, and her eyes immediately catch sight of the bathtub through the door Carmilla left open. After three months of living in the dirt and in the mud, she itches to rid herself of all of it and to feel clean for the first time in what seems to be forever.

She grimaces when she realizes the only tank of water at her disposal is as cold as it gets, but she certainly won’t ask anyone for help or warm water – two things she probably wouldn’t get anyway.

She undresses slowly, gasping when she removes some clothing items that feel like they’re embedded in her skin. She hasn’t changed in a little over a week: she was waiting for rain to fall to wash her spare clothes, since the river’s water tends to make them stiff and highly uncomfortable, and she regrets it as she looks at the red marks on her shoulders and around her waist.

She opens the two cupboards in the room once she’s fully naked, searching for something to wash with; they are mostly empty, and Clarke has no idea what most of the few items it contains are for. The only towel she finds is fairly small but it’ll have to do; as for the small piece of fabric that she grabs to use as a washcloth, she’s not even sure it’s supposed to be one – not that its original purpose really matters.

Going back to the tank, Clarke dips it into the water and hisses when she presses it against her face. Said water is even colder than she thought it would be, but she grits her teeth and bears it.

The cloth gets incredibly dirty in mere seconds, smearing mud more than it removes some, so she wrings it out over the bathtub and wets it again with clean water. There is a sink in the room as well, which she could logically use instead of the bathtub, but it’s too far from the tank – tank she would have trouble moving due to its weight – and she’d rather avoid doing round-trips repeatedly.

From their appearance, Clarke guesses the sink and the bathtub are not Grounder-made, but rather commodities inherited from before the war. The sink mostly looks like the ones they had on the Ark, but they had no bathtubs and she finds it’s a strange sensation to use equipment that she only ever saw in movies so far. She’s almost reverent in the way she touches it, like she can’t entirely believe it’s really in front of her. She’s always been fascinated by the past, often using it as inspiration for her drawings.

*

It takes her close to an hour to remove most of the mud covering her entire body, little by little with the small washcloth, and she feels much lighter once she is done. She’s shivering but she doesn’t care; looking at the rest of the clean water with envy, Clarke decides she could as well enjoy a bath at this point – she got used to the cold anyway.

Given the weight of the tank, it takes all of her strength to pour the water into the bathtub; first just enough to rinse it, and then the rest after she puts the plug in. Taking a deep breath once her bath is ready, she carefully steps over the edge of the tub and slowly lowers herself into the water until she’s sitting in it; she revels in the sensation in spite of her chattering teeth. It’s a feeling she never got to experience before they got sent to the Ground, and bathing is something she thinks she’ll probably never tire of. She splashes water on her torso and her arms, ridding them of the last traces of dirt, then slides forwards and tilts her head back so she can scrub her hair.

She stays in the water until she can’t handle the cold anymore, then quickly dries herself with the small towel – which ends up entirely drenched and useless. There are no mirrors in the room so she can’t inspect the cuts on her face and on her neck; though given the state of the rest of her body, Clarke has quite an idea what she might look like.

She stands in front of the pile of her clothes for a good minute, trying to will herself to put them back on, but the disgust is too strong and she resolves to going back to the bedroom to borrow a Grounder outfit instead. She easily finds one that fits her in the large closet, and the size of the clothes she picks makes her notice exactly how much weight she has lost in three months. She also discovers that they are more comfortable than she would have thought.

Once she’s done, Clarke doesn’t bother banging on the door like the previous day when the guards locked her up, for she knows it would be entirely useless, but she’s starting to be really hungry _again_  – she hasn’t eaten in over a day – and she wonders what plans Lexa has for her. She’s calmer than she expected to be when she thinks about the Commander; she wonders if it’s because of the good night of sleep, because of her bath or because of her discussion with Carmilla – or if it’s a combination of the three – but she definitely feels better than the previous day. It’s not much but she notices it all the same, and she muses whether talking _does_ help after all.

She busies around the bedroom to keep herself occupied, opening every drawer and every door and exploring it in its entirety, until she knows every inch of it. After that, she gives up and simply stares outside the window, studying as much of Polis as she can see from how high up she is in the tower.

 

* * *

 

She has no idea how long she’s been there when the door opens, but she knows from the position of the sun that it must be early in the afternoon.

“What do you want?” Clarke asks as she turns around to face the Commander who’s staring at her from where she stopped in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind her back and attitude as regal as ever.

“We need to talk.”

“About what? About the guy you sent to abduct me, or about what you plan to do with me now that I’m in your power?” Clarke shoots back aggressively.

“I sent Roan to protect you and bring you back”, the Commander corrects. “You were in immediate danger, as you probably noticed, and I needed to see you to discuss important matters that cannot wait.”

“I’m not a pawn in your political plans that you can move around as you wish, Lexa”, Clarke snaps, feeling anger take residence in her thoughts again. “And you’re not exactly the person I most want to see at the moment.”

Lexa nods. “I understand that. Would you rather be interrogated by the Ice Queen?”

Clarke is taken aback by the question, but then she starts connecting the dots. There was another group of Grounders after her – something that totally stopped being at the forefront of her mind after Roan mentioned who sent him… And her attackers were apparently from the Ice Nation. Clarke has no idea what is going on exactly or what their Queen’s motives are, but she assumes it has something to do with a power play. She doesn’t know her much, only through Lexa’s words, but that’s enough for Clarke to know she’s indeed better off in Polis than used in whatever way by the Ice Nation.

 _“I lost someone special to me too. Her name was Costia. She was captured by the Ice Nation whose Queen believed she knew my secrets. Because she was mine, they captured her, killed her, cut off her head…”_ Clarke can still hear the Commander say.

The small part of her that isn’t blinded by anger immediately empathizes with Lexa, for she suspects what the Commander’s feelings for her are – not that she particularly wants to dwell on that. She can imagine what Lexa must have felt when she learnt about the Ice Queen’s next target.

Without even noticing, she somewhat softens her verbal blows.

“What does she want?” she simply asks.

“The Mountain—” Lexa starts.

Clarke reels back, throwing a hand behind her and against the wall to steady herself as air gets knocked out of her lungs.

“—through an alliance with the Sky People”, Lexa finishes.

“Why”, Clarke breathes out, trying her best to stay in control of herself, “why send people to kill me then?” she croaks.

“I believe the warriors that were sent after you were ordered to capture you, not to kill you”, Lexa rectifies.

Clarke forces herself to focus on the situation at hand rather than on memories. “Why me? Why now?” she asks.

“I think she waited until everything settled down so she could have a full analysis of the situation”, Lexa answers, “and you are the best interlocutor. You’re the one who fell the Mountain; my people recognize your strength, many of them call you Wanheda now – the Commander of Death”, she translates quietly. “You killed our greatest enemy, and we are thankful for that.”

Clarke’s answer dies in her throat. Gone are the thoughts of how unproductive it is to capture someone before you start a negotiation, unless it is commonplace for the Ice Nation to do so – in which case Clarke is indeed grateful Lexa sent Roan after her –; gone is her eventual understanding of the word her first attacker yelled as he launched at her – Wanheda –; gone is her ability to have a civilized conversation with the Commander.

It all shatters at Lexa’s ‘we’.

“I certainly didn’t do it for you or your people”, Clarke fulminates. “You turned around and left _my_ people to die in there, forcing me to find another way in and to kill EVERYONE inside! This was supposed to be a RESCUE mission, Lexa, not a genocide!”

“I know”, the Commander replies.

But Clarke’s wrath is unleashed, and she doesn’t plan on stopping there. “Do you even realize how foolish the deal you took might have turned out to be if the Mountain Men had stayed alive?”

“Foolish?” Lexa repeats as she takes a step forward, her voice sharpening.

“Yes, foolish! They never would have stopped being a threat to you. Once they could go outside, what do you think they would have done? Stay confined in the Mountain, or use their weapons to control you and invade you?”

Lexa tilts her head to the side as she takes a deep breath, and something tells Clarke she’s not going to like what she's about to hear.

She’s right.

“So it’s acceptable for _your_ people only to claim some of my land as their own?” the Commander challenges.

“We—” Clarke tries, but Lexa is far from done.

“You have invaded Trikru’s territory since you arrived, yet we _let you_ until you attacked first.”

“We didn’t mean—”

“I have made numerous compromises to make living together with your people possible”, Lexa continues, “I have bent our traditions, I did not retaliate directly after you burned _three hundred_ of my warriors alive, yet none of this was ever enough. You protected a murderer that massacred eighteen of my people – children and elders! – and asked for him to be spared. I may not know your ways, Clarke, but I do know this is the behavior of people who don’t understand peace; only entitlement, and you are similar to the Mountain Men in that way. Do you call me foolish for giving your people a chance then? Or rather even, _several_ chances?”

Lexa’s words are spears, and none of them miss their target. Clarke is so busy trying to fight the Commander’s arguments – though she can’t find anything to retort – that she doesn’t entirely process them, but they do reach their goal.

They expose how her current morality system is entirely based on the flawed assumption that her people’s interests have the right to outweigh any other ones.

If she started the conversation in unstable equilibrium, she is now in free fall.

“Besides, as you pointed out, the attack was designed as a _rescue_ mission, which means they still would have had their weapons – apart from the acid fog – and we would have kept facing the threat they posed in any case”, Lexa continues. “So tell me, Clarke, had you been given a way to save all of your people while ensuring there would be no more losses – or minimal losses – on your side in the future, would you have taken this chance?”

Clarke avoids answering the question this time again, just like when Carmilla asked it the previous day. “We were in an alliance”, she counters. “We went there to save _both_ our people, but you left mine to die. Dozens of my friends were trapped in there!” she accuses harshly.

“Do you wish to discuss numbers, Clarke?” the Commander questions, raising an eyebrow.

“People are not just numbers you can count”, Clarke growls. She remembers well enough the conclusions she reached the previous day about the ugly maths of the decisions made at Mount Weather, and she knows they are venturing into dangerous ground.

She also knows she objectively understands Lexa’s decision, but the betrayal was personal to her and she’s too hurt to admit out loud that she would have taken the deal too. Blaming Lexa for everything that happened is much simpler.

“No indeed”, the Commander agrees. “They are what they mean to you as well, and mine are my responsibility. Preventing useless bloodshed was my duty. The Mountain Men have taken thousands of my people, killed most of them and turned the others into Reapers. The deal I took would have stopped this all. We are leaders, Clarke, we make the decisions we must”, Lexa adds, her expression softening. “I know you understand this, because you did the same thing. You may hate me for what I did if you need to, but know I never intended to betray or hurt you. I am however glad about the final outcome, as well as grateful to you for defeating the Mountain Men.”

“I killed hundreds of people; this is nothing to be grateful about”, Clarke contradicts bitterly.

(She just wishes she could stop seeing their faces again and again and _again_.)

“You killed murderers”, Lexa rectifies.

“No, I killed _everyone_!” Clarke cries out desperately. Her anger is slipping out of her in the wake of the Commander’s on-point argumentation, and the only thing that’s left behind is sorrow. “Allies and friends and, and _children_ ; I killed them _all_ , Lexa!”

She can’t help the sobs that start shaking her body to the point she doubts she can keep standing, so she lets herself slide against the wall until she’s sitting on the floor.

“I killed them all”, she repeats quietly, her voice broken.

And that’s when Lexa understands that Clarke’s attitude towards her is not only directly due to her betrayal at the Mountain – that they’ve only been dancing around the crux of the issue so far. There is something else on Clarke’s mind, something that has less to do with heartbreak and more with crushing deaths.

Lexa goes to kneel in front of her, close enough to touch her if she reaches but far enough not to invade Clarke’s privacy. “Is that why you left your people?” she asks.

“Yes”, Clarke mumbles without looking at her, the heels of her hands pressing against her eyelids. She can feel the Commander’s presence in front of her though at a respectable distance, and she wishes she could just lean forward to crumble in her arms. She wishes Lexa didn’t play a part in building the weight on her shoulders so she could just let her soothe it; and at the same time she wishes blaming Lexa could just pass this weight onto her.

It is a strange feeling, she thinks, when the person responsible for your pain is also the one in whose embrace you’d like to seek solace.

“What happened in the Mountain?” Lexa questions softly, pushing slightly so as to know where the boundaries stand.

“I can’t—” Clarke starts because this is a conversation she’s not ready for, but the images are vivid in her mind and won’t let her rest. “There were children”, she whispers, “and babies, and…” she trails off as a fresh stream of tears falls from her eyes.

Silence settles in the room and stretches on for a long moment before Lexa breaks it. “I had only seen four summers when the Maunon took my father”, she murmurs. “How many of the men who tortured your friends do you think were only children like me back then?”

Clarke blinks her eyes open in surprise; her gaze immediately locks with Lexa’s and she lets out a soundless gasp, for the pain she can read in the Commander’s eyes – the Commander who’s usually so emotionally closed-off – is immense. It mirrors the one that lives in Clarke’s chest since her father got floated, and she can’t find anything to say in that instant.

Lexa must sense it, because she’s the one who speaks again first. “May I show you something?” she asks quietly.

Unable to find her voice, Clarke simply nods in agreement.

She takes the time to wipe at her tears before she gets up and follows Lexa, who has stopped at the door to wait for her.

They get down to the ground floor of the tower with the elevator that Clarke doesn’t appreciate any more than the first time, and they come out into the streets of Polis under a radiant sun that pleasantly heats their skin. There are numerous people hurrying around in every direction, but Clarke notices that some of them seem to be simply strolling along the streets. She didn’t pay much attention to the city the previous day – too obsessed with her thirst for revenge –, but this time she has nothing else to do while Lexa leads her through a rather tortuous path between old buildings and Grounder tents, so she takes in everything there is to see.

What surprises her the most is the order that reigns in the city. The street vendors don’t fight for locations, as if they all tacitly know where they are supposed to settle down; there are no beggars or drunk individuals or people ready to start a fight; and the streets are much cleaner that she expected them to be for such a big city with so little technological means. The atmosphere is also overall quite different from the one in the small villages she had been in so far, and it takes her several minutes to understand why. It’s not just the low ratio of warriors to other occupations, it’s rather the general mood that shrouds the whole of Polis: people are mostly light-hearted and smile easily, so unlike what Clarke had seen of Grounders so far.

With her heart as dark as the night, she feels like she doesn’t belong there at all.

Numerous gazes linger on her blonde hair still streaked with red locks, something which is partly explained by the rarity of her natural hair color among Grounders, but Clarke notices that some people also nod to her as she passes by them and she feels highly uncomfortable when she finally understands why.

Just like Lexa said, they are grateful to her for ridding them of the threat posed by the Mountain Men.

She wonders if there will ever be a place where she won’t be reminded of what she had to do – a place where people will look at her and only see _Clarke_.

“Where are we going?” she asks to take her mind off unpleasant and hurtful thoughts.

“You will never heal if you keep living in the past, Clarke, so I want to show you the future”, Lexa answers cryptically.

They walk in silence again the rest of the way, and less than five minutes later they enter a building that nothing distinguishes from the ones they passed by since they left the tower. Lexa leads them to a staircase and they move up to the first floor, then turn into a corridor on which numerous doors with transom windows open. They stop in front of one of them, and Lexa motions for Clarke to look inside.

She immediately understands it’s a classroom. Half of the furniture is broken but it doesn’t seem to bother the children; some of them sit on tables, for there are not enough chairs, others are half-lying on furs on the floor, and all of them seem captivated by what a woman of respectable age is telling them. The sounds are muffled by the door and the teacher is speaking Trigedasleng, so Clarke only understands words from time to time – not enough to grasp the general topic.

“When an orphan has no one to take care of them, they are brought here and become the Commander’s responsibility”, Lexa explains. “They live in the building next to this one, get as much of a normal childhood as they can, and are taught just like in any other school in Trikru villages or here in Polis.” She pauses, letting Clarke absorb this information. “Most of them are here because the Mountain Men killed their parents”, she quietly continues after a while. “Now, thanks to you, they’re sure that no one else will have to suffer in such a way again. You avenged their parents, and you brought about peace.”

“How many of them are there?” Clarke asks in a strangled voice without looking at Lexa, her eyes still fixed inside the classroom.

“Almost a thousand, ranging from babies to fourteen summers of age. The younger ones stay in the building where they sleep with people to care for them until they’re old enough to start school.”

A thousand.

There are more than three orphans for each person that lived in Mount Weather and, even though she saw the countless rows of cages with people trapped in them, only then does Clarke understand how heavy a toll Dante and his people took on the Grounders for dozens of years. She knows not all the children are there because of the Mountain Men – she wants to throw up when she realizes some of them might be there because of _her_  –, but the numbers are still unfathomable.

“What do they become?” she whispers, feeling tears gather in her eyes.

“They become trainees or seconds the way all children do when they leave school, depending on which job they prefer and the abilities they have. This is a class for mostly younger ones, they will stay here for seven or eight more years”, Lexa details.

One of the children notices their presence just as she stops talking, and Clarke sees the spark of joy that lights up in his eyes. “HEDA!” he exclaims, loud enough to be heard distinctly through the door and causing every other little head to turn to look at them.

“I think we’ve been caught spying”, Lexa says, smiling softly as she opens the door.

“Hei goufa”, she nods solemnly as she enters the classroom, though the smile lingers in her eyes.

Her attitude surprises Clarke, who has never seen her act this way with anyone but her; the Commander is usually so closed-up that it feels foreign to watch her gentle interactions with the children, who all jump to their feet and rush to Lexa as she comes to a stop next to the first row of tables. The teacher, completely forgotten at this point, smiles to Clarke as she exits the room, using the occasion to take a break.

“Ha yo?” Lexa asks.

The children all answer pretty much at the same time in Trigedasleng, and Clarke is immediately lost. Even if they didn’t speak as fast as they did, she still wouldn’t be able to make sense of what they are saying, for their voices merge to create one single abstruse noise. The only thing she can do is watch as Lexa talks to them while they look at their Commander with adoration.

“Yu laik Wanheda?”

Blinking in surprise, Clarke looks down to find a young girl with a frown on her face, staring at her and more specifically at her hair.

“Ai laik Klark”, she corrects, unwilling to be known by the name the Grounders gave her after what she did at Mount Weather.

“Klark kom Skaikru. Wanheda”, the little girl repeats. “Mochof.”

“Chomouda?” Clarke asks, though she fears the answer. She has no idea how to say ‘you’re welcome’ though, so she has to use what little Trigedasleng she knows – she can’t just not answer anything, not with the way the little girl is looking at her.

“Yu don goch klin ai nomon.”

Lexa must see that Clarke is lost, because she answers in her stead.

“Osir na tel Klark op mochof gon loda diyo, ba osir nou beda chich op hashta Maun-de. Maunon laik fotaim, oso beda chich op hashta chit na kom au”, she tells the children, who all answer “Sha, Heda!” in unison – something Clarke finds quite endearing, though she would never admit it. “We have much to thank you for”, Lexa then translates for Clarke, “but the Mountain Men are the past, and we should focus on the future”, she adds, slightly changing her choice of words in English, saying exactly what she knows Clarke needs to hear – though she might not _want_ to. “She thanked you for avenging her mother.”

“I figured it was something like that”, Clarke breathes out and gulps. “Killing people is not something to be thanked for.”

“No”, Lexa agrees, “but giving them a safer future is. You may have killed children in Mount Weather, but you offered closure to the ones in front of you, and many children who still have a family as we speak have been spared absolute heartbreak thanks to you. Nothing is ever just good or bad, Clarke; you cannot move past what you did because you’ve only looked at the dark so far, but these children are the light you should rather see. This is why I brought you here.”

“It’s not that simple”, Clarke lets out bitterly, shaking her head.

“I never said it was. Do you wish to heal your wounds?” Lexa asks, confusing Clarke.

“My wounds?”

“The ones through which your heart doesn’t seem to stop bleeding. Do you wish to heal them?”

“I don’t know how!”

Clarke winces when she hears the edge of despair in her voice; despair she can’t prevent from seeping out though it betrays just how deep the wounds in her heart and in her soul are.

Just how well Lexa is able to read her.

“Then maybe let them help you take the first step”, the Commander advises quietly, pointing to the children with a small tilt of the head – children who are currently looking at them in bemusement since they don’t speak a word of English.

Clarke distinctly hears the ‘let _me_ help you’ that Lexa didn’t say but meant all the same, and as much as she wants to tell her that she doesn’t need her help, the truth is that she does. She does because apart from Carmilla – whose ability to help is _quite_ limited –, Lexa is the only one who sees her neither as a hero, nor as a monster; to Lexa Clarke is only just Clarke, and this is what she’s desperate for.

“Okay”, she acquiesces.

“Shoun of gon Klark chit yo du hir!” Lexa thus tells the children with a small smile.

That’s how Clarke ends up whirled around from one room to another, young girls and boys showing her everything they have at their disposal – from a training room to drawings of trees and of animals – with obvious excitement. Their joy is communicative and Clarke even finds herself smiling from time to time, though she doesn’t understand the majority of the children’s enthusiastic babble. It doesn’t seem to bother them; they even teach her some words and she tries her best to answer with her broken Trigedasleng, her mistakes making them giggle.

When they’re done showing her about every room in the building, they lead her into the place where they live and sleep. This time, Clarke ends up touring bathrooms, bedrooms and kitchens; she sighs in contentment when she manages to grab some food to fill her starving stomach in the process. She barely has time to thank the cook, though, before the tornado of excited children make her move into another room, and most of the time she doesn’t get to say more than “hello” to the Grounders she meets. She’s impressed by how many of them there are, all here to educate the children or to help them in their everyday life.

The kids only (reluctantly) let her go when Lexa makes them, explaining that it’s time for Clarke and her to leave. The two young women hear them shout “leida!” until they get out of the building, and Clarke is surprised to discover that the sun has almost set already. She didn’t think that that much time had passed, even though she knew they had been with the children for a while.

“Where did you learn Trigedasleng?” Lexa asks with curiosity while they make their way back to the tower.

“I occasionally got close to villages when I was in the woods. I picked up on some stuff”, Clarke shrugs. “It’s not much, as you probably noticed.”

“Sha”, Lexa says with the ghost of a smile dancing on her lips.

She doesn’t offer to teach her though she probably thought about it, and Clarke appreciates the distance Lexa keeps between them without having been asked to. She’s not ready for anything more than whatever truce they have somehow settled on during the day, and she’s not sure she will ever be. The anger that drove her to want to kill Lexa is still there, right underneath her skin; she can feel it, harsh and relentless, ready to take control of her again if she let it free – but it is somehow tamed too.

She thinks it might have to do with the fact that Lexa just showed her where to put the first piece to puzzle herself back together.

 

* * *

 

“What are you doing in my bed _again_?” Clarke huffs as soon as she enters her room, Lexa on her heels.

Carmilla turns her head just enough to crack an eye open. “Sleeping”, she mumbles.

“Well, do this elsewhere.”

“No”, Carmilla groans, half of her face still buried in a pillow.

“How did you get in?”

Lexa’s voice sparks enough of Carmilla’s interest to make her leave her comfortable lying position in the bed; she sits up and takes in the situation.

“Oh, hey Cap’”, she says with a sleepy voice and a yawn, before switching her eyes to Clarke. “So that’s why you finally washed yourself, huh? Awesome job by the way, I almost didn’t recognize you”, she adds, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes indeed”, Lexa notes, frowning – she only just remembered that Clarke did look quite wild the previous day. “Where did you clean yourself?”

“In the bathroom…” Clarke shrugs, the answer being kind of obvious.

“Yes, but how?”

“With water and a washcloth. Why?”

“Which water?” Lexa asks.

“What’s the problem?!” Clarke exclaims, exasperated.

“Oh I like where this is going”, Carmilla interrupts. “Which water?”

“The one that was in the tank. Next to the bathtub. Can we move on now?”

Lexa clears her throat. “This is the water we use to clean clothing, Clarke, it wasn’t meant for a bath. To wash ourselves, we usually warm it up first… Is using cold water a habit of Skaikru?”

“Oh please tell me the water had already been used”, Carmilla snorts.

“I do not know that”, Lexa simply states, and Clarke swears she’s felt more embarrassed in the three days she’s known Carmilla than during the rest of her life.

“Maybe I should have spent more time explaining to you how bathrooms work after all”, the vampire tells Clarke, smirking.

“Get out of my bed”, the latter glares.

“Since I forgot to ask your better half to give me a room last night, not gonna happen. Plus it’s comfortable.”

“I know, which is why I want it back”, Clarke demands, ignoring Carmilla’s irritating tendency to use unwanted nicknames. “Wait, did you two talk to each other already?” she asks a second later.

(Come to think about it, if they hadn’t, Lexa’s sword would probably be drawn and put to use already…)

“She tried to kill me. It seems to be a pattern with you two”, Carmilla sighs. “Needless to say, both your techniques could use some improvement.”

“Do I need to find silver bullets?” Clarke sasses at the same time that Lexa notes: “You survived a fall from the tower. It is quite hard to find something worse to do.”

“Did you push her out?” Clarke asks with wide eyes.

“No. She jumped.”

“The look on your face was worth it”, Carmilla smirks at Lexa before staring at Clarke again. “And just so you know, moron, silver kills _werewolves_ , not vampires!”

The word is out before she can push it back in and she’s ready to mentally slap herself, but Lexa seems entirely confused – which is in itself not surprising, even if Carmilla would have been flattered had the word ‘vampire’ made it through the ages when ‘Europe’ didn’t.

“Not my favorite kind of movies, I already told you”, Clarke mutters.

“Not mine either, actually. They’re really poor work of ‘art’”, Carmilla comments with a disgusted face. “Anyway, let’s be clear here, nobody is trying to kill anybody today? No knife action?”

Clarke closes her eyes, trying her best not to let Carmilla ruin whatever semblance of fine she is feeling, and Lexa stays silent too next to her. From awkward, the atmosphere has turned heavy.

“Well, this is boring”, the vampire complains.

“That’s it. I’m ignoring you”, Clarke mutters.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “How very mature of you! See why I called her a child?” she remarks to Lexa, who decides it’s best for everyone if she stays out of this conversation – so she keeps a straight face and doesn’t answer.

“You WHAT?” Clarke asks, incredulous.

“Congrats, you managed to ignore me for five seconds”, Carmilla scoffs. “So Cap’, I take it you followed some of my advice?”

“What advice?” Clarke questions, not liking the implied meaning of things she doesn’t know about.

Lexa’s eyes narrow slightly and she clasps her hands behind her back, straightening her spine, but she keeps her mouth shut. By the look on Clarke’s face, she fears that this conversation might ruin her efforts of the day, and that answering would only make things worse.

“Hello, I’m talking!” Carmilla drawls, getting up and approaching Lexa, who stays just as immobile and silent. She nudges Clarke, who moves away from the touch immediately and glares at her. “Is she okay?”

“She’s doing a much better job at ignoring you than I am”, Clarke mutters.

“No one can keep a poker face like that forever”, Carmilla frowns, “except me… Soooo”, she smirks, predatory, “is what your girlfriend is saying true? Are you ignoring me?”

Not one muscle on Lexa’s face moves, not even at the word ‘girlfriend’, which leads Carmilla to make it a personal challenge to get her to react.

She tries everything she can for five good minutes while Clarke goes to sit on the bed and clutches the furs in her fists, obviously more affected by Carmilla’s words than Lexa, but it’s in vain. Stupid nicknames, flirt, provocation – the vampire tries _everything_ , but absolutely nothing works. Disbelieving, she realizes that she _might_ have found someone whose self-control matches hers – something that never happened before –; mildly pissed off once she’s at a loss of things to throw at Lexa, she lets out a loud “WHATEVER” and storms out of the room, much to Clarke’s relief.

Lexa only lets a small smirk appear on her face once Carmilla is out and can’t see her anymore.

“I guess I should learn not to react when she flirts with me if I want her to give up, huh”, Clarke tries to joke instead of saying any of the angry words gathered in the back of her throat. Carmilla has almost, _almost_ managed to ruin the best day she’s had in three months; she’d like the ‘almost’ to not become an ‘entirely’.

“She is quite stubborn”, Lexa smiles. “I will be training the sonkeryon class at the beach tomorrow. Do you wish to join us?”

The change of subject is sudden but incredibly welcome – most definitely the Commander’s attempt at defusing the situation, yet Clarke hears herself snap rather than ask any of the questions Lexa’s proposition has raised in her mind. “Is that another one of Carmilla’s advice?”

Lexa reels slightly but she doesn’t fight back; she just takes it, willing target to Clarke’s ill temper since she needs one.

It makes it so much harder for Clarke to stay angry at her.

“We did briefly talk about you, Clarke, but Carmilla has no link to any of this”, Lexa assures.

“I know”, Clarke sighs, running a hand over her face. “And I’ve always wanted to see the ocean.”

“Then it is settled”, Lexa declares. “I will come and get you around noon.” She pauses, weighing the pros and the cons of what she wants to say next, then decides to go for it and asks: “Do you want me to send someone to prepare a warm bath for you tonight?”

“That’s another idea I can get behind”, Clarke chuckles tiredly when she sees that Lexa is serious with the question – there’s only a hint of playfulness in her gaze, but nothing else in her expression betrays it. “And a meal would be nice too.”

“Alright”, Lexa nods, then takes a deep breath and comes a few steps closer to Clarke. “I can allow you a few days of rest, but not more. Azgeda is not known for conceding defeat easily… I am doing my best on my side with Roan for now, but this is something we’ll have to discuss as soon as he gets back.”

The statement takes Clarke completely by surprise, for her afternoon had almost completely diverted her thoughts from this issue. It’s so unlike her, it makes her aware of how mentally wrecked she is exactly.

“With Roan? Why?” she asks, trying to focus again. “Who is he?”

“The Prince of Azgeda”, Lexa answers, holding Clarke’s questioning stare.

“The Prince of— What?! You sent the Prince of the Ice Nation after me?!”

“It’s a long story, Clarke, and one I’m not sure you want to hear for now”, the Commander replies cautiously.

“Does it involve—”

Clarke can’t bring herself to finish her sentence, but Lexa easily understands it all the same.

“Yes.”

“Then you can indeed keep your story”, Clarke bites out bitterly.

She’s not ready to talk about Mount Weather, not ready to think about its future when she still sees its inhabitants dying again and again every night in her dreams, and frankly not ready to face _anything_ the world decides to throw at her next.

The silence stretches on, for far too long to be comfortable. Clarke is looking anywhere but at Lexa, searching for a way out of the discussion they’re currently having, but she can’t find one. No matter what she does, she feels like she’ll never be fully able to escape the shadow of the Mountain.

“I’m sorry”, Lexa whispers after a while.

Clarke’s head snaps up in surprise, her eyes unwillingly locking with the Commander’s glossy ones. They’re not too different from how they looked like right before Lexa turned around in front of Mount Weather, when Clarke heard her say those words for the first time, and she draws in a sharp breath.

There are so many emotions battling inside of her that she wants to scream.

“You can repeat those words as many times as you want, it’ll never change what you did”, she accuses harshly.

“Make no mistake, Clarke, I am not apologizing for the decision I made”, Lexa rectifies. “I am, however, sorry about its consequences, and specifically the pain I caused you. I never meant for you to experience the burdens I bear”, she adds in a murmur, her voice utterly sincere.

The words rip at Clarke’s insides, knocking the air out of her. She so badly wants to hate Lexa in that instant, to curse her like she did for three months in the woods when rage was an easy and steady companion; she truly wishes she could, but it’s so much harder to hold onto that in the heart of Polis in front of the young woman whose eyes are just as haunted as her own, if not more.

It’s been about a day since Clarke tried to kill Lexa, yet it feels like an eternity already. A day in the Grounder Capital has helped her more efficiently than the dozen of weeks she spent in the forest – something seemingly impossible but that is proven to be right all the same.

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut as tears pool in their corners and threaten to spill, unable to hold Lexa’s gaze any longer.

“You need to be able to protect yourself”, the Commander says only seconds later, her voice much closer than Clarke expected it to be. She didn’t hear her move.

Clarke’s eyes open again to the sight of Lexa handing her her knife back and she feels as if her hand is moving on its own accord as she takes it without a word, unsure of what is happening.

“The guards at the door are here to prevent people from coming in, not you from going out. You are free to go wherever you want, just… be careful”, Lexa adds. “You should be safe in Polis because weapons are supposed to be wielded by guards only, but the Ice Queen is sly.”

She turns around and crosses the room while Clarke keeps staring at the knife in her hands with disbelief, her brain processing information with a delay; Lexa has already opened the door when Clarke calls after her, blurting out the question that is swirling around on a loop in her mind.

“How can you be sure I won’t try to kill you again?”

The only answer she gets is in the form of a small smile on Lexa’s face, lingering there until the Commander silently slips out of the room and Clarke is left alone with the storm inside of her; a storm raging both in her heart and in her soul.

The truth is she could try again, but they both know the outcome would be exactly the same than the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sou nou komba raun mou.” = “Do not approach more.”  
> “Bants.” = “Leave.”  
> “Maunon” = “Mountain Men”  
> “Hei goufa.” = “Hello, children.”  
> “Ha yo?” = “How are y’all?”  
> “Yu laik Wanheda?” = “Are you Wanheda?”  
> “Ai laik Klark.” = “I am Clarke.”  
> “Mochof.” = “Merci.”  
> “Chomouda?” = “Why?”  
> “Yu don goch klin ai nomon.” = “You have avenged my mother.”  
> “Osir na tel Klark op mochof gon loda diyo, ba osir nou beda chich op hashta Maun-de. Maunon laik fotaim, oso beda chich op hashta chit na kom au.” = “We can thank Clarke for many things, but let's not talk about Mount Weather. The Mountain Men are in the past, we should rather speak about what happens next.”  
> “Sha, Heda!” = “Yes, Heda!”  
> “Shoun of gon Klark chit yo du hir!” = “Show Clarke what y’all do here!”  
> “Leida!” = “Goodbye!”


	4. Part I: Black - Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick heads-up about the writing / posting schedule: we're currently writing Part II and it has gone... Let's say a bit out of hand. Chapter II-2 is over 17k words, and we had to cut Chapter II-3 in half because we're not nearly done with it and it's already over 13k words. So Part II will have 5 chapters and not 4 as originally planned, and since we edit each part globally before we start posting, that will mean a bit more of a delay either between I-4 and I-5, or I-5 and II-1. The holidays factoring as well, keep in mind that maybe we won't update for over a month!  
> \----------  
> “The opposite of anger is not calmness, it’s empathy.” - Mehmet Oz

“How far is the beach?”

“Patience, Clarke”, Lexa says with a small, amused smile. “We need to exit the city first.”

They left the tower almost half an hour ago and Clarke’s eagerness, though contained at first, has been steadily growing since then. Seeing the ocean has always been a dream of hers; she had drawn beach landscapes more often than she could count on the Ark, and the prospect of finally seeing one with her own eyes lit a spark of excitement inside of her – the first in a long time.

“How big is Polis exactly?” Clarke wonders out loud, her voice bordering on whiny.

“It’s quite vast”, Lexa states, “but we are nearing the woods. We won’t be far once we reach them.”

“Okay”, Clarke sighs, trying to be patient.

And failing miserably.

“Why didn’t we go get your students?” she asks, hoping that making small talk will pass the time faster as they keep striding towards the beach. “It would have spared their teacher some time.”

“I am their teacher today”, Lexa frowns.

“I was talking about whoever is accompanying them to the beach”, Clarke elaborates.

“The sonkeryon can come on their own”, Lexa shrugs slightly.

“Oh… Are they, like, the fourteen-year-old kids or something?”

“Some of them are, but most of them are younger. They can enter the class when they’ve seen eight to ten summers, and they only leave once they’re over sixteen summers old. Those who already serve as seconds are still a part of this class, and they attend it whenever they are staying in Polis.”

“Didn’t you tell me the classes are mostly split by age?” Clarke asks, confused.

Lexa nods. “Yes, but this one is different.”

Clarke’s brow ticks up. “Care to explain?”

“One of them is the future Heda.”

“O— Okay”, Clarke stutters in surprise. “Are the, uh, sonkeryon an elite class, trained to become Commanders?”

“There is only one Commander, Clarke”, Lexa rectifies as they leave the city and enter the woods. “But yes, the sonkeryon are given a special education so one of them is fit to replace me when I die. My Spirit will choose the more suited candidate among them then, though I already have an idea of who it might be.”

It takes Clarke a while to reply. Something about Lexa talking so lightly about her death doesn’t feel right – just like it was out of place when they were facing the gorilla. She’s barely older than Clarke yet she doesn’t seem to fear death; she even sounds like she fully embraces the possibility of it happening soon.

Ironically enough considering that she wanted to kill Lexa herself only days ago, the fact doesn’t sit right with Clarke.

She clears her throat, pushing those thoughts away. “So who do you think it will be?”

She doesn’t comment on the Grounder belief of reincarnation, for she doesn’t share it at all and doesn’t want to get into a useless argument.

“You will meet him soon, Clarke”, Lexa simply replies.

“ _How_ soon?” Clarke grumbles, wishing the walk to be over already.

“It’s only a matter of minutes now”, Lexa says, the corners of her mouth twitching up a bit. “We’re approaching. Can’t you smell the salt in the air?”

Clarke takes a deep breath and realizes that it is indeed different than in the heart of Polis. She couldn’t pinpoint why or how exactly, but it’s not just the smell – it’s also the feeling: fresh and invigorating; raw in a way, energizing even.

“So what does ‘sonkeryon’ mean?” she starts quizzing again, trying to channel her enthusiasm – which is otherwise demanding to be let free. Her excitement doesn’t go unnoticed by Lexa though, but the Commander doesn’t comment on it.

“The literal meaning is ‘souls of the sun’, but I think in Gonasleng you would rather translate it as ‘souls of the light’”, Lexa details.

“Souls of the light? That’s—”

Clarke stops, feeling the hairs at the back of her neck prickle. She’s had the impression that they’re being followed almost since they entered the forest, but now she’s convinced that it’s more than just a feeling.

“Lexa, are there guards of yours walking behind us?”

“There are some patrolling in the woods, but none are specifically following us. Why?” the Commander frowns, her hand finding the hilt of her sword by reflex.

“I think—” Clarke starts, looking around in hopes of finding something that would justify her feeling, but she doesn’t finish her sentence as she understands why she detected something that Lexa didn’t despite her years of training.

More than two months chasing after a panther in the woods make for a good sixth sense of her presence.

“Carmilla, I know you’re here”, she calls. As nothing moves in the woods, she adds: “You might as well show yourself instead of pretending you can’t hear me…”

Lexa draws her sword as a panther appears between the trees and nonchalantly makes her way over to them, her tail swinging behind her as she walks.

“Clarke, this is not Carmilla”, Lexa claims, lowering into a fighting stance.

“Give it time”, Clarke retorts, smirking imperceptibly.

“This is a…” Lexa starts, but she can’t seem to find the English word she’s looking for, so she settles for saying: “A big cat, however you call them.”

Clarke shrugs. “Yeah, I thought so too for over two months.”

The panther sits in front of Lexa, totally unfazed by her sword, and the Commander looks her in the eye as she tries to understand what Clarke means.

“Oh”, she breathes out when she recognizes Carmilla’s dark but playful gaze.

“Yup”, Clarke agrees, smiling frankly this time.

“And how—”

Lexa forgets what she wanted to say when the panther rears and her contours blur; two seconds later, the Commander’s eyes grow almost comically wide as she discovers Carmilla standing in front of her, grinning widely.

“That’s for ignoring me. You’re way more entertaining without your poker face!”

“My what?”

“That ‘nothing bothers me’ expression you’ve got going on.”

“You’re strange”, Lexa sighs. “And how is it possible that you were the cat?”

“The same way I jumped from the tower and ‘magically’ reappeared on your throne?” Carmilla sasses.

“Vampire powers”, Clarke cuts in.

“What is a vampire?” Lexa questions.

“Me.”

“Then what are _you_?”

“A vampire”, Carmilla smirks, causing Lexa to grit her teeth and glare at her. Being toyed with that way is something the Commander is neither used to, nor appreciative of. At all.

“Long story short, she’s dead, she eats blood, and she can turn into a cat”, Clarke elaborates.

“Not. A. Cat”, Carmilla growls.

“Are you really dead?” Lexa frowns, ignoring the interruption.

“I’m an _un_ dead being that can turn into a _panther_.”

“How can you be un-dead and what is a panther?”

“I was dead, and then I wasn’t. Long story. And you just saw a panther”, Carmilla points out, rolling her eyes.

“You are confusing.”

“It takes some getting used to”, Clarke confirms. “Now can we move?”

“I see you two are becoming great friends again”, Carmilla notes, raising an eyebrow. “How nice!”

“No, we’re not”, Clarke retorts abruptly. “We’re just—”

“Mind if I tag along?” Carmilla continues, ignoring Clarke entirely.

“If you wish”, Lexa shrugs, which causes Clarke to glare at her.

“Oh, this is going to be fun”, Carmilla purrs under her breath, smirking when she sees how set Clarke’s jaw is exactly.

They resume walking in a tense silence. Clarke tries her best not to let Carmilla get under her skin _again_ , but a part of her enthusiasm has died down. She curses the vampire for it, wishing Carmilla wouldn’t come and ruin her mood every time she doesn’t feel entirely depressed.

When the trees thin and the beach appears in front of her eyes, though, she forgets everything that just happened.

She stays rooted to the spot, her gaze fixed on the ocean that she can just make out at the other end of the large expanse of sand. There is something about the whole landscape’s immensity that pulls at her heart, drags the ocean inside of her and her soul inside of the ocean, like she is breathing it in and letting it cleanse her.

She barely registers what she’s doing as she removes her boots and socks and lets her feet dig into the sand, a delighted smile spreading on her face and slowly reaching her eyes. This is a dream come true, a dream she thought for so long would stay a dream forever; she revels in the raw feeling of just being _there_ , the weight on her soul forgotten if only for a moment.

She’s moving before she realizes she is, walking then running towards the blue vastness that seeps in her thoughts and takes over them. Lexa and Carmilla’s voices behind her turn into nothing more than an indecipherable buzz in the background of her mind and she doesn’t see the children on the beach; she only hears the waves relentlessly crashing on the sand, and her eyes don’t leave the ocean one second.

She lets herself fall on her knees once she’s crossed the beach, letting the foam lick at her wrists and just breathing in deeply – breathing free for the first time in years. Memories of her childhood in the Ark fill her mind but she doesn’t stop them; she drowns in them with painful abandon instead.

She was rarely alone when she looked at pictures of the ocean or watched movies that featured shots of it – pictures and movies she could never seem to grow tired of. Most of the time, she had someone with her to talk about it with animation, to try to imagine its smell or the feeling of bathing in it.

“You would have loved the ocean, dad”, she murmurs, the salty wind swirling around her words and carrying them away until they dissolve in the crispy air.

She doesn’t fight the tears when they start falling; for once, they feel more therapeutic than they betray depression, so she allows herself to cry over everything that could have been but never will be.

The ocean lulls her until her sobs calm down, soothing her pain with quiet breezy hushes.

 

* * *

_\- A few minutes ago -_

 

“We’re on a beach. Great”, Carmilla groans. “And there are children on the beach. Why are there children on the beach?” she asks in a horrified tone when she sees them.

“Because I came to train them”, Lexa replies matter-of-factly.

“I should’ve known there was a catch”, Carmilla mutters. “Leaving. Now.”

No way she’s dealing with children. Not even laughing at Clarke and Lexa is worth putting herself through this.

She’s ready to turn around when she notices Clarke taking her shoes off, then moving away from them without a look back. “What are you doing now?”

Carmilla doesn’t get a response or even an acknowledgement that she’s been heard; worse even, Clarke starts running towards the ocean as if nothing else existed in the world at the moment.

Incredulous, she turns to Lexa in hopes of getting some sort of explanation, but the Commander seems to find Clarke’s behavior perfectly normal – which is, in a way… kind of scary.

(Humans are strange, really.)

“Wow, she’s even crazier than I thought”, the vampire comments, incredulous. “And you’re whipped.”

“I am not. And I only have my sword with me”, Lexa frowns, glancing Carmilla’s way.

“… What?”

“Nobody brought whips here.”

“Why would anyone bring whips??”

“You’re the one talking about people being whipped, not me”, Lexa remarks.

Carmilla stays frozen for a moment, wide-eyed and incredulous. “Oh my _god_ , this is _not_ what I… Never mind. Informal English really isn’t your thing, huh?”

“What did you mean then?” Lexa huffs, losing patience.

“Do I always have to mean something?” Carmilla deflects by answering with another question.

“You sounded like you did.”

“Well forget about it then”, the vampire dismisses. “What’s the crazy hippie doing over there?”

“I suppose you mean Clarke?”

“Do you see any other blonde running barefoot towards the ocean?”

“No, but you used yet another word I don’t know”, Lexa glares. “And Clarke is learning.”

“… To run?”

“To let herself heal.”

“Okay, certes”, Carmilla sighs, giving up on trying to understand either Lexa or Clarke at the moment.

“Certes?” Lexa repeats, mispronouncing the ‘r’.

“That was a French word. Never mind. Again.”

“Will it be worth it if I ask what it means?”

Carmilla only sends a death glare Lexa’s way instead of dignifying this question with an answer, but the Commander doesn’t seem to feel threatened by it at all. It baffles Carmilla, who still hasn’t managed to figure out if Lexa indeed doesn’t fear her – or if she really just pretends that well.

In any case, the Commander ignores Carmilla entirely after that, leaving to meet the children who were, so far, mostly looking between them and Clarke, intrigued. The vampire, left alone in the shadow of one of the trees the closest to the beach, internally debates whether to turn around like she intended to or to follow by pure curiosity as to what happens next… and she groans at herself when she ends up reluctantly following Lexa – but she’s starting to be bored _again_ in the forest, panther form or not, so the choice really isn’t one.

(That being said, she’s killing the first kid that approaches her.)

She hears Lexa speak gibberish as she approaches – though she stays at a reasonable distance – and the only thing she manages to make sense of is her name, but the sentences must be amusing, because they make the children smile.

“Dison laik Karmila kom Noukru. Teik em ste soulou, em sad hosh op… En em ste kom pakstoka disha sintaim – pri enti en pis.”

“Kom pakstoka ou kom pauna?” a child asks with a broadening grin, and Carmilla doesn’t like the idea that they’re making fun of her. At all.

“What did you just say to them?” she glares.

“Os prom”, Lexa answers the kid with a smile dancing in her eyes before turning to Carmilla. “I told them not to approach you.”

“And that made them laugh? Are they even more stupid than they look?”

“We are not, but I understand why Heda told us to leave you alone now”, a teenage boy answers very seriously in perfectly good English, taking Carmilla by surprise. “Heda, yu don biyo ‘Noukru’?”

“Yes, Aden”, Lexa nods, not explaining further. “Now, all of you, speak Gonasleng so Carmilla can understand you. This will be a good exercise.”

“Yes, Heda!” the children all answer in unison.

Carmilla sighs. “So I suppose Heda means Captain?”

“Captain?” Lexa asks, confused. It’s not the first time Carmilla has called her that, but so far she was simply brushing off the word as yet another one that she doesn’t understand.

“Isn’t that your title?”

“I am the Commander of the twelve clans”, Lexa bites out, tensing up in offense.

“I don’t see the difference”, Carmilla shrugs.

“Which tower do you plan on jumping from to avoid being run through by my sword this time?”

“Back at it with the threats? I thought we were past that!” Carmilla exclaims, faking shock.

“Do not disrespect me again, then”, Lexa growls.

She turns towards the sonkeryon who are looking back and forth between the two of them in confusion, trying to cut the conversation short, but she has no such luck.

“Oh, why, am I undermining your authority, _Captain_?” Carmilla grins wickedly.

“Yu mema thri bakon-de kom Heda in? Ai gaf in noun en fiyanes mou kom uf disha taim kos em ste fleimen”, Lexa explains to the sonkeryon, though she purposefully doesn’t mention the part where she has no idea how she could harm, let alone kill, Carmilla. She also doesn’t specify that determining the strange-and-apparently-dead woman’s _exact_ potential value would require a more lengthy and serious conversation than the ones they’ve had so far. “And we will ignore her now, because we are here to train, strik gona.”

“I thought you said no gibberish anymore”, Carmilla scowls. “And is ignoring me the new trend?”

She could as well have been speaking to the wind, because everyone acts as if they didn’t hear her. The children and Lexa simply grab sticks that were lying on the sand so far, then lower themselves into an attack stance – their attitude subtly shifting to the one of a warrior. What Carmilla finds impressive is that the younger kids, who are ten at best, don’t look like beginners at all; she wonders for how long they’ve been training already.

Having nothing best to do and hoping for something interesting to happen fast, she sits down on the ground; even though the sand doesn’t look appealing to her at all, it’s still better than staying up – and if she goes back to sit in a tree, she might as well not be there at all given the distance. She puts her back to the sun that is mercifully not heating too much and watches the training session, at first with utter boredom but with growing interest as she pays attention to what is happening.

“This is not the forest, your environment is your liability rather than your advantage. You cannot hide, you cannot climb; you need to rely on strength but mostly strategy alone”, Lexa tells the children. “If there are five of your opponents but you are alone, you must still be able to defeat them. Find a cunning approach, use their own weapons against them… Be resourceful”, Lexa tutors them.

She spends time illustrating her words with demonstrations in which she fights several kids or teens at the same time, and she adapts to each situation with ease. If they are in the way of each other because they’re attacking all at once, she evades them; if she sees an opening, she strikes; if she has to concede ground for a moment only to win it back later, she does.

Carmilla finds herself actually impressed. Between her words and her actions, the Commander does look quite wise for a human – a qualifying term that Carmilla didn’t think she would ever be using again, at least not in reference to any non-vampire person (… and especially not in reference to a twenty-something-year-old woman). But Lexa is impressive in her strength and her fierceness, and even more so since a great part of it obviously _doesn’t_ come from her past lives’ experience – past lives that Carmilla knows still survive in the Commander in a way.

Lexa is a warrior and a mentor; a leader ready to be ruthless if need be, yet she cares so deeply inside that Carmilla wonders how it doesn’t consume her whole. It’s a side of the Commander that she suspects not many see – she herself witnessed it only because of her link to Clarke –, but it is indubitably _there_ and just as undeniably _hurting_. The only thing Carmilla hasn’t figured out yet is whether it’s easier for Lexa to keep everything inside all the time, hiding behind her Commander’s mask, or if she simply doesn’t know how else to be anymore – if she could even _afford_ to be herself in the first place.

(Carmilla would never admit it, not even with a wooden stake ready to pierce her heart, but Lexa does remind her of herself in some ways.)

(Which is absolutely not one of the reasons why she’s there on this stupid beach, watching stupid children wield toy sticks and a stupid blonde sit right where the waves crash, instead of hunting somewhere in the woods. Absolutely. Not.)

“You is not move?”

Carmilla, snapped out of her haze, frowns at the little girl – one of the younger ones – standing in front of her, though at a respectable distance. The others have moved closer to the ocean, leaving Carmilla behind and lost in her thoughts. “What part of ‘don’t come near me’ was unclear? Get closer and I’ll kill you”, she threatens.

“I like not scared”, the little girl asserts, staring back at her, even though it’s obvious it’s a façade.

“Well maybe you should be”, Carmilla drawls menacingly as she gets up, brushing the sand from her pants with disgust.

“Heda not know fear”, the girl shoots right back with a voice that tries very hard to be steady, but is starting to tremble a bit.

“It is true that Heda shows no fear, Leia”, Lexa intervenes as she makes her way back to them, “but the Commander also knows when it is wise not to provoke a battle that could be avoided.”

When Lexa points to the rest of the group with her chin, the little girl – Leia – immediately nods and leaves to join them again.

“Are you seriously enjoying this, uh, lesson?!” Carmilla asks, gaping, when she notices the Commander’s fond expression as Leia walks away.

The corners of Lexa’s mouth tug up a little. “They’re good students.”

“They’re children, which would make this unbearable in itself, but you’re literally training them for war!”

“I do wish for them to live in a world of peace, but we do not currently have such luxury”, Lexa retorts dryly. “Only fools believe that peace is attained without war, and I’m not one of them. I am training the sonkeryon to survive and to continue what I have started because I _have_ to, not because I want to. If it upsets you, you are welcome to leave”, she finishes and turns around without waiting for an answer, her red sash flapping in the wind with the movement.

Carmilla, left standing alone in the middle of the beach, seriously considers listening to Lexa and going away for a moment; but there is a challenge in these words too, a ‘you’re the one who wanted to come along’, and Carmilla _loathes_ losing.

Actually, she’d hate it even more than usual, because it’s not one of _her_ games that they’re currently playing.

She’s not going anywhere near the children again, though, so she needs to find something else to do – and since Clarke seems to be back to a less scary behavior, for one thing now sitting instead of kneeling in front of the ocean, it’s a swiftly made decision.

(Irritating Clarke is _so_ easy and _so_ funny.)

Carmilla reaches her a bit more than a minute later, taking cautious steps all the way to avoid ending up with sand in her boots. She stares silently for a few seconds at the young woman who is tracing patterns on the ground, her fingers leaving small trails behind, then arches a brow and sasses: “I could have _sworn_ all the children were over there… Having fun playing in the sand?”

“I’m drawing”, Clarke mumbles without looking at her.

“Drawing what?”

Faced with silence as the only response, Carmilla huffs and moves around Clarke to see the sketch from the right side. “… You’re sitting on the beach. The ocean is _right_ in front of you… Why are you drawing it?!”

Clarke only shrugs, clearly not in the mood for a conversation.

“Well, this outing has been highly disappointing so far”, Carmilla complains, giving up after all since she’s at a loss of ideas of things to do. “I’ll be… somewhere else.”

Clarke hums absent-mindedly in response, adding details to her drawing – as much as it’s possible to do that in the sand, anyway – rather than paying attention to Carmilla. It’s the first time she’s had an opportunity to get creative in a while, and the landscape certainly provides inspiration. She feels sort of numb after the amount of tears she has shed; she’s been through so many conflicting emotions in the past few days that it’s like she can’t take any more – like the part of her brain that is supposed to _feel_ is simply empty, and will stay so until she gets a refill one way or another.

*

She has no idea how long has passed when a reedy voice pulls her from her thoughts – or rather lack thereof, since her mind was in a somewhat peaceful and thankfully relatively silent place for once.

“This is beautiful.”

“Thank you”, Clarke says, looking up to find a little girl crouched in front of her, her stick lying on the floor next to her. She’s obviously more interested in the drawing than in the fights happening behind her – Lexa has put the children in pairs, and the beach has turned into a messy battlefield. “What’s your name?”

“I like Leia. Why is you not train with us?”

Clarke mentally reconstructs the sentence in correct English to understand it before answering, and wonders if this is what she sounds like in Trigedasleng. “I don’t know how to fight the way you do, Leia. So I prefer to draw”, she smiles.

“Heda say we is here for learn.”

“Then why are you here talking to me?” Clarke teases.

“Heda is fight with who I fight before. I like alone. You fight with me?” Leia asks with hopeful eyes.

“I don’t have a stick”, Clarke mentions as a last attempt to avoid getting dragged into the training session.

“We have more. Follow!” Leia exclaims, grinning.

And that’s how Clarke ends up getting her ass kicked by a nine-year-old girl.

First of all, she has absolutely no idea how to hold her stick properly. She’s used to her gun, which is much less cumbersome than something that’s almost as high as her, and holding her weapon with two hands is a concept she’s only just discovering. Second, she’s far from having a warrior’s stance; and third, Leia is much more agile and skilled than Clarke anticipated.

As a result, she’s not sure whether it’s her ass or her pride that hurts the most when she gets back up with a groan for the – at least – tenth time in less than two minutes.

“Are you training with us, Clarke?”

And of course, it’s the moment Lexa chooses to notice that she has left her spot near the ocean and is now rather lost in a sea of children. Of _fucking_ course.

(It’s definitely her pride that hurts the most.)

“Apparently yes”, she grumbles.

“She not know how to fight”, Leia states. “At all.”

“Wait here”, Lexa simply says before turning back and making her way between fighting children.

“You draw much better than fight”, Leia remarks.

Clarke snorts. “Yeah, I told you so!”

“Where you learn to draw?”

“Nowhere specifically… I learnt alone”, Clarke shrugs.

“In the sky?” Leia enquires.

Of course, Clarke sighs internally, _of course_ Leia recognized her, even if she didn’t mention it sooner. They all do. They all know.

“Yeah, I started to draw on the Ark, when I was even younger than you”, Clarke replies with a forced smile.

She is saved from Leia’s questioning when Lexa returns with a young teenage boy who nods to her respectfully.

“This is Aden; he is the one I told you about earlier. He will teach you the basics of fighting, Clarke. Leia, you can go train with his former partner.”

The little girl nods, then smiles to Clarke and leaves.

“Leia is still young, she has not been a sonkeryon for long. She still behaves like a child sometimes”, Lexa says, and Clarke hears this almost like an apology for the kid’s behavior – for disturbing her when she was drawing.

“She _is_ a child. It’s okay”, Clarke shrugs, even though she just got caught into a training session that she has zero interest in because of Leia.

She thinks for a moment that Lexa will comment on this, answer that the sonkeryon are not just simple children and have to be fully focused or something along those lines, but the Commander lets it slide and nods to Aden instead.

“The first thing to learn is the right posture…” he starts.

*

Five minutes later, Clarke is watching Lexa and Aden give her a fighting demonstration, which she enjoys more than she expected to. She is impressed by the boy’s abilities; if his mind is as sharp as his body is skilled, she fully understands why Lexa believes in him.

It takes Clarke a while to realize that she’s mostly looking at _the Commander_ though, and as soon as she catches herself, she looks away. She tries to focus on Aden, on his attitude and on the way he fights – this is still supposed to be a demonstration before he turns into her teacher for the day, after all –, but her gaze slides to Lexa against her will more often than not. She can’t help it; it’s instinctive, as if her eyes were drawn to her no matter how much she wishes they weren’t.

She hates it.

She hates it because she hates Lexa and because she’s definitely _not_ still attracted to her – and if she feels too warm it’s _only_ because of the sun’s rays on her skin.

She sighs in relief when the demonstration ends shortly afterwards. It didn’t last longer than a few minutes, but Clarke feels as if she’s been fighting her own body for closer to an hour.

She focuses solely on Aden when Lexa leaves them to watch the pairs of children – giving pieces of advice to each and every one of them again –, and starts attacking him immediately. She needs a distraction, something to take out her frustration on, and a battle of wooden sticks sounds like a great concept to her in this instant after all.

She tries to compensate for her lack of skills with strength, but she quickly realizes that Aden has more of this than her too. He is patient though; he doesn’t make her land on the sand repeatedly like Leia did, he simply disarms her when he manages to… Which is way too often to her liking.

*

The children around them change partners regularly, but Clarke keeps fighting Aden. He provides advice regularly, very serious in his role of teacher, and she’s glad when he finally allows her to take a small break. She is out of breath and sweating profusely, but she finds she likes learning to fight after all. Not only could it prove useful for her to know how to defend herself without a gun and with more than just a knife in the future, but it’s also an outlet for the anger inside of her.

She’s still waiting for her heart rate to slow down when she notices Lexa making her way back over to them, and she’s so busy trying to control her thoughts at the sight of the Commander glowing in the sunlight that she nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of Carmilla’s voice behind her.

“I see two children who are avoiding fighting each other…” the vampire teases.

Clarke turns around swiftly. “Where have you been and, more importantly, why did you come back?” she groans.

“Casually leaning against that tree over there”, Carmilla answers, pointing behind her and towards the whole damn forest with her thumb, “enjoying the shade. If it weren’t for the children making too much noise and for the lack of books, it could have actually been pleasant…”

“Don’t dream too much for the books. I doubt there are many left, unfortunately”, Clarke grouses. “And again, why did you move from your _pleasant_ spot?”

“Because the surge to come and bother you became too strong again”, Carmilla smirks.

“Which children?” Lexa cuts in before Clarke can shoot back a dry reply.

“All of them. I hate them equally.”

“Which children are avoiding fighting each other?” Lexa elaborates.

Carmilla doesn’t answer, simply looking pointedly at Clarke and then back at Lexa.

“We’re not children”, the two young women refute at the same time.

“Talking in sync, how cute”, Carmilla comments with a devilish grin; they both glare at her, which only amuses her even more. “Anyway, you two are children to me. And you should totally _exercise_ together at some point…”

“ _Carmilla_ ”, Clarke hisses.

“She is right”, Leia cuts in, and that’s when they all realize several children have stopped fighting each other to look at them instead. “Why you two not fight?”

Clarke closes her eyes, swearing she’s _never_ going anywhere with Carmilla again.

“And why is _she_ not training?” another boy intervenes, pointing at Carmilla. He moves closer to the vampire, acting like a bighead – clearly thinking that he could beat her. Being one of the oldest teenagers in the group, he’s a bit taller than her, and he certainly thinks he’s more experienced.

“Because _she_ doesn’t need to”, Carmilla dismisses.

“You think you’re that good?” he provokes her.

Carmilla chuckles mockingly. “I don’t _think_ , I just _am_.”

“Really?” he asks, arching a brow.

Lexa almost intercedes, but she decides Edric could use a lesson for once. He’s been too confident in his abilities lately, ever since a unit leader chose him to be his second, and something tells her that his ego is about to get badly bruised – which won’t be a bad thing at all. He needs to question himself before he can start learning again.

He attacks without warning, but Carmilla is ready. She grabs the end of his stick with one hand as he launches at her, then turns on her heels and uses his own momentum to throw him head first into the sand. She does it almost casually, as if she was trying to get rid of an annoying fly that came to buzz around her.

He gets up, gives her a nasty look and charges again. Sighing, Carmilla steps aside just as he gets close enough to touch her with his stick, then grabs him by the belt of his pants with two fingers before lifting him off the ground. He looks completely dumbfounded as his legs and arms dangle in the air, and Carmilla keeps him in this position just long enough to be sure everyone has gotten her point before she lets him crash into the sand.

“Anyone else?” she asks ironically.

The children leave her alone from then on.

*

“I’m still waiting for you two to fight each other”, Carmilla notes once Lexa is done lecturing Edric about his behavior. The Commander used the situation as a teaching opportunity, reminding everyone that appearances can be deceiving and that they should always try to assess a situation properly instead of being hot-headed, then silence settled until Carmilla reminded them of what had started all of this.

“No”, Clarke growls, knowing there is no way this could end well.

“Why?” Carmilla asks, challenging. “What are you afraid of?”

“Nothing.”

“Really? Because just two days ago you did try to—”

“We will fight”, Lexa cuts Carmilla off, unwilling to let her finish that sentence in front of the sonkeryon. She didn’t lie to the children when she told them that Carmilla is, or at least might be, valuable – particularly because of her apparent extended knowledge of the world –, but Lexa is also starting to think that this strange dead-yet-alive woman will be the cause of too many problems to be worth being turned into an ally and asset. Unfortunately, for the time being, she is stuck with her and forced to deal with the situation accordingly.

“What? No”, Clarke refuses. They are now in the middle of a circle of children who are watching them with interest, and she has no intention of making a fool out of herself.

“Are you defying Heda’s orders?” a child asks, gaping.

“Clarke is Skaikru”, Lexa states without looking away from that very person. “She does not fall under my rule.”

“I indeed certainly don’t”, Clarke bites out.

“You have much anger inside of you, Clarke”, Lexa comments evenly, avoiding showing weakness in front of the sonkeryon, but her eyes are soft. “Perhaps you should let some of it out.”

Clarke remains silent for a while, struggling with her own thoughts. She doesn’t know what she’s most scared of at the idea of fighting Lexa – if it’s discovering that she can’t fully lash out on her, or doing so and being swallowed by her own anger to a point of no return. Carmilla is arching an eyebrow at her mockingly, as if she knew exactly what is running through her mind, and Clarke wants to rewind time until the previous day so she could refuse Lexa’s offer to go see the ocean.

The Commander crouches to pick up Clarke’s stick and throws it at her, her features hardening. “Attack me”, she enjoins to cut Clarke’s thoughts short.

( _“You know you want to”_ , she doesn’t need to add, for she knows Clarke hears it as clearly as if she had said it.)

Clarke closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and clenches her fists so hard around the stick that her knuckles turn white. She almost wants to use it as a sword, to try to _hurt_ Lexa with it, but a part of her holds her back. So instead, she barrels into the Commander, hitting with increasing frustration and strength and _rage_. She forgets where she is, she forgets who is watching; she sees red again and just wants to make Lexa _pay_. Her eyes prick with unshed tears as she tries desperately to land even just one blow, but it’s in vain.

Clarke doesn’t know how much time passes until her arms start to feel like jelly but she feels the full force of her wrath by then, so much so that it makes her shake, and she wants to yell but she’s too breathless for this. She knows Lexa could have disarmed her thousands of times already, which makes her even more furious, and she moves her gaze up to glare at her.

She didn’t expect the pain she finds in the Commander’s eyes. She doesn’t know exactly what she was waiting for, if it was coldness or smugness or whatever else, really, but the pain takes her entirely by surprise. She almost trips over her own feet, but Lexa pushes back with her stick and Clarke manages to keep her balance.

“I’m so, so sorry”, Lexa whispers, too low for anyone to hear it – almost just mouthing the words.

It’s the second time in two days that the Commander apologizes with unwavering sincerity in her voice and, this time, it doesn’t make Clarke snap back at her. It makes her want to weep and crumble and fall apart on the ground, and she doesn’t even know or understand why.

But she doesn’t do any of that; she stays strong and she keeps fighting instead. She’s done nothing but fight for a long time anyway – fight to stay alive, fight to stay strong, fight to stay herself, fight, fight, _fight_. And this is one fight she wants to win.

“This anger that you feel… As long as you hold onto it, you won’t be able to build yourself back up”, Lexa whispers again. “You need to let it go.”

“I can’t”, Clarke admits, striking harder.

“You have to.”

“ _How_?” she hisses. “How do I—”

She doesn’t get to finish her sentence, doesn’t get to ask how to keep standing without anger driving her, because Lexa has already answered her in a murmur. “You need to forgive yourself.”

Clarke takes a step back, stumbling, when Lexa’s words hit her. She’s been blaming the Commander for months, trying to clear herself of full responsibility for Mount Weather, she has hated her since that day… And only then does she understand that maybe, just maybe, it’s because all of this was easier than to hate _herself_  – to accept that there’s no one to really blame for the decision she had to make, nothing to help her bear it apart from the ugly truth that everyone is a monster in their own right: Lexa, who betrayed her; Cage, who refused to bargain his father’s life and chose to continue harvesting bone marrow instead; herself, who ended up pulling the lever. They all made horrible decisions based on their goals and the situations they were in, and Clarke is struggling to come to terms with her responsibility towards the ultimate outcome – but even though passing blame is easier than facing hard facts, denial is undeniably a major obstacle to healing and reconstruction.

She swallows several times, trying to force inside the lump that has formed in her throat, but without much success.

When she attacks Lexa again, her anger has washed away and, this time, she thinks it might be for good.

She’s just not sure she’s ready to face the distress that is left in the wake of her realization.

*

“Stop going easy on me”, Clarke grumbles between shallow breaths.

They’ve been fighting for a while now, Lexa only defending herself and not attacking once – actually, they’ve been fighting for so long that the children have grown tired of watching them and have formed pairs again. As for Carmilla, she’s been yawning repeatedly, finding the situation much more boring than she thought it would be.

Lexa smirks slightly. “Are you sure?”

“Yes”, Clarke groans. She’s used their fight and the subsequent exhaustion to prevent herself from thinking too much about what to do with herself now, but she can barely stand anymore and she just wants it to be over. She’s too proud to surrender, though.

“Alright”, Lexa says.

One second later, Clarke is on the ground, and she can’t even figure out how Lexa made her fall. Truth be told, she doesn’t understand how it’s possible to be so fast and so precise in an action.

What she does understand, though, is that she’ll be aching all over the next day.

And that Lexa is way too close to her to her liking – way too close to respire properly.

The Commander is hovering over her, holding her down with her stick and smiling teasingly because of how easily she ended the fight, and Clarke’s breath catches in her throat for another reason than her fall. Their position is not even suggestive – Lexa merely has a knee on the ground next to her – but Clarke freezes anyway, and so does Lexa when she realizes how close they are.

The air feels too thick between them and Clarke chokes on it: on the could-have-beens and on the attraction that she really, _really swears_ she’s _not_ still feeling. She’s a mess of emotions, too tired to fight them off, and she fears she won’t be able to be the one to move first.

They stay like this, staring at each other with dilated pupils, until Carmilla snaps them out of it with an ironical remark along the lines of “now would be a good time to use that knife, blondie; you know… to cut some of that tension…” that they both only half-hear.

They separate quickly then, Lexa getting back up and Clarke doing the same thing a moment later, which makes Carmilla grin wickedly – her grin growing even wider when she sees both their cheeks take subtle shades of pink and red.

“I _cannot wait_ to see what’s going to happen when you two actually do something, seeing how flustered you get just by being close to each other”, Carmilla muses.

“I’m not— We’re not— Shut up”, Clarke growls.

Lexa takes it as her cue to go back to training the sonkeryon, clapping hands to get their attention and making them work on strategy rather than skills again. She leaves Carmilla and Clarke to their verbal fight, knowing her presence would only worsen the situation.

The vampire rolls her eyes. “Here’s a tip: next time you try to deny something… Try harder. If you want to fool people, that is – yourself included.”

“I’m not trying to fool anyone”, Clarke hisses.

“Sure”, Carmilla snorts. “Keep telling yourself that.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the sound of knocks on her bedroom door that wakes Clarke up the following morning. Groaning, she rubs her eyes to clear her vision and lets out a heavy sigh; she has absolutely no motivation to get up.

Her night was quite restless: not only did she get back to the tower late, but she also got woken up by nightmares more than once. She doesn’t regret the time she spent at the orphanage the previous evening though, the laughter of children definitely helping with her mood and her own ability to smile.

She got back from the beach with the sonkeryon while Carmilla and Lexa returned to the tower directly; as she listened to the children’s explanations about Polis and their class, she found herself actually interested in what they were telling her. She also got a bit embarrassed when she realized she had jumped to conclusions too fast, considering the Grounder’s society simplistic when it’s in reality much more complex than she had imagined, but she didn’t let it show. She can still see the army thirsty for blood and hear the battle cries that went with it, which is making it hard for her to reconcile the idea of the peaceful atmosphere of Polis with what little she had seen of the Grounders so far.

Yawning, Clarke runs a hand through her hair and her fingers tangle in the braids some children gleefully weaved her blonde locks into when she was at the orphanage. They’re a bit loose after sleeping on them, but she doesn’t have the heart to remove them… Not to mention that it would require her arms to stay up for an extended period of time, something she doubts she could manage considering how much she’s aching – as expected, courtesy of the training session of the previous day.

When she rolls around to get up, Clarke almost falls off the bed.

She apparently slept dangerously close to the edge, and she only understands why when she turns around and catches sight of another sleeping form half-over, half-under the covers.

Either she dreamt shooing Carmilla from the bed the previous evening when she got back, or the vampire slipped under the furs again at some point during the night.

Considering she remembers waking up from her last nightmare alone, Clarke is inclined to believe the latter to be true.

Sighing and shaking her head, she walks to the door and opens it instead of wasting her time with Carmilla again.

“Hello, Clarke”, Lexa greets her. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure”, Clarke answers, stepping aside to let Lexa enter the room. “What do you want?”

“There is a floor in this tower that I believe you would enjoy – and Carmilla as well –, so I thought I could take you two there today. You wouldn’t happen to know where Carmilla is?”

“Sleepin’”, a voice half-muffled by a pillow mumbles.

Lexa looks to the bed, taking in Carmilla’s figure, then back to Clarke with a confused look. “Did you two sleep together?”

“What?! No!” Clarke exclaims with wide eyes.

“Yes”, Carmilla groans almost at the same time.

“We didn’t—” Clarke starts to snap though she forces herself to calm down almost immediately, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking a deep breath; Lexa is looking at her, clearly lost, and Clarke tries to keep at least some of her composure. “She came back at some point during the night and I woke up almost on the floor because she’s taking most of the bed. Period.”

Lexa nods slowly, puzzled by Clarke’s vigorous reaction. “Then I will leave you two to prepare yourselves. I will be in the corridor.”

Clarke waits until Lexa is out of the room to mutter a dry “I hate you” to Carmilla, before locking herself in the bathroom.

She hears Carmilla’s “messing with you is too easy, blondie” response through the door anyway.

 

* * *

 

“Woah” is the only thing that leaves Clarke’s mouth when they round the corner and she takes in the room in front of them, gaping.

“Nice library”, Carmilla comments, arching a brow and smiling genuinely for once – quite happy to know that books have survived the nuclear apocalypse after all.

“I heard you two talking yesterday”, Lexa simply says with a small shrug. “One of the first Commanders dedicated this floor of the tower to gathering all the books people could find. Almost nobody comes here anymore, but I thought you might like the place.”

“I’ve never seen that many books”, Clarke whispers. She looks like a child that just received a Christmas present, and it makes a smile dance in Lexa’s eyes. “We only had some on the Ark, but I’ve always liked reading.”

“Then I trust you will enjoy this library. Do you want me to show you around? I only know the main categories, but…” Lexa trails off.

“Sure”, Clarke grins, her eyes not leaving the rows of books.

Carmilla comes back to reality when the two young women move away. She was lost in her thoughts until then, the sight of the library bringing back memories over a century old. The scent of books is familiar and comforting in a way, though she’d never admit such a thing out loud. Truth be told, what was left of the world after the war felt foreign to her, and this is the first time she ends up in a place that even remotely feels like a home to her.

(She really hopes this particular library is _not_ sentient, though. For reasons.)

(That being said, she wouldn’t mind some snacks either.)

Fingers dusting over the covers of the books she passes by, Carmilla proceeds to search for the most isolated corner of the library, determined to settle there. She quickly finds a dimly-lit nook that suits her and starts moving books around until she’s satisfied with her work, then lets herself fall on an old chair to read a 19th century novel whose title seems nice enough to her – and that she’s never seen before, a small miracle in itself.

She gets about five minutes of relative peace before Clarke and Lexa find her, and she audibly groans when she spots them coming her way. She hates being disturbed when she’s enjoying a book – even more than usual, that is.

“Getting comfortable already?” Clarke teases, enjoying being the one to poke fun at the vampire for once.

“Yes, and I don’t plan on starting a book club. So you can go now”, Carmilla sighs.

“Too bad, I found myself something to read too. I thought I could join you”, Clarke smirks.

Carmilla glares. “No.”

“I will leave you two to your argument”, Lexa says. “If you search for me, I will be in the throne room.”

“Wait, are you going?” Clarke frowns.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Yeah, I would’ve thought you’d have wanted to read with your girlfriend”, Carmilla comments – and in a serious tone, for once.

“You never stop, do you?” Clarke huffs, while Lexa stays silent.

“Stop being me? That would be difficult, cutie”, Carmilla winks.

Clarke decides to let it go and turns back to Lexa. “So you’re not staying?”

“You can’t read, can you?” Carmilla asks, incredulous, when she notices Lexa’s little movement of the jaw that betrays her discomfort. She gapes for a moment, then snorts. “So the remnants of civilization are being led by an illiterate child… I guess that explains the current state of the world. Why learn to read when you can be taught war, right?”

“I will not let you judge our ways”, Lexa warns in a low voice. “Books have never been an immediate solution to stopping civil wars or feeding people. I had many more important matters to learn before I became Commander, and many more important matters to take care of after that.”

“Maybe you became Commander too soon then”, Carmilla shrugs.

“I became Commander when the one before me was killed trying to save my people from starving”, Lexa retorts harshly. “I learnt what is necessary for our survival; had I been taught to read Gonasleng instead of strategy, many more people would be dead by now. Unlike you, I do not have the luxury of leisure.”

“Hmm. Do you know that the art of war has been the subject of many books?”

“Yes. This is why I have an advisor who _does_ know how to read Gonasleng, and his knowledge of the ancient world is broad-ranging. He has time for what I do not.”

“So you’re the _Commander_ , but you have to rely on someone else?” Carmilla scoffs.

“Carmilla—” Clarke tries to cut in, wishing to defuse the situation, but in vain.

“I mean, what’s stopping you right now?”

Lexa frowns, even more so when a self-satisfied smirk appears on Carmilla’s face. “Would you teach me?” she asks anyway once she admits Carmilla does have a point. She doesn’t have anything in particular to do until Roan returns, and it’s at least worth a try.

“What part of ‘I’m not starting a book club’ was not clear?”

“I’ll teach you”, Clarke blurts before she can stop herself. She doesn’t know why she says it exactly and she bites her lips as soon as the words are out of her mouth, but it’s too late to take them back.

Especially considering the hopeful look Lexa gives her.

(That look is _exactly_ why Clarke wishes she _hadn’t_ said this.)

Carmilla looks at her with raised eyebrows, smirking. “And I didn’t even have to suggest it!”

Clarke grits her teeth and mumbles “come on” as she turns around, trying to get as far from Carmilla as possible before this turns into (yet another) really embarrassing situation. “Let’s find somewhere _quiet_.”

Carmilla’s sarcastic chuckle echoes in the library for several painful seconds.

*

“I need to find you something really easy”, Clarke says pensively, trying to focus on the teaching part instead of _who_ she’s teaching. “Something for kids, but I don’t know if you have this kind of books here.”

“Clarke—” Lexa starts quietly.

“I mean, we could also start with a normal but easy book, but I’ll also need lots of paper and—”

“Clarke”, Lexa repeats.

“What?”

“I know how to read.”

“You— What?!” Clarke gapes, her hand freezing against the cover of the book she was distractedly running a finger on.

“I know how to read, but only Trigedasleng. I don’t know how to read Gonasleng.”

Clarke shakes her head, annoyed. “What’s the difference?”

“You don’t write as you speak. I decipher most letters but I do not understand the words as a whole”, Lexa frowns.

“Oh”, Clarke lets out when the words register in her brain. “You use a phonetic alphabet, I guess.” She pauses, thinking. “But then if you know how to read, why didn’t you learn to read in English as well? You’ve already learnt the hardest part!”

“I would say trying to recognize and remember how every word I know is written is the hardest part”, Lexa counters. “Your use and order of letters don’t make any sense.”

The words are spoken loudly enough to reach Carmilla’s ears, and the vampire snorts. “Yeah, try learning French!”

“We’re obviously not far enough yet”, Clarke mutters, causing Lexa’s lips to twitch up in a ghost of a smile.

They keep walking and enter another smaller room, whose door Clarke closes with relief. “So you’re used to reading then?” she asks absent-mindedly as she browses the rows of books, in search of an easy one with mainly frequently used words.

“No”, Lexa answers. “We do not use writing much, only for important matters that need to be remembered in the future. And not many of us know how to read to begin with.”

“Hmm.” Clarke crouches to look at the books on the lower shelf, then grabs a small one and flips through it rapidly. “This one will do.”

They clear the piles of books on the table in the middle of the room before settling on massive wooden chairs.

It takes Clarke about five seconds to realize that, Lexa knowing how to read or not, she’ll need paper anyway, so she gets back up and skims through the library until she finds some in a cupboard, as well as a pencil. When she makes her way over to the table again, Lexa has opened the book and is looking at the first page with intense concentration.

“There are some letters I don’t know”, the Commander says when Clarke sits next to her.

“Which ones?”

Lexa points to the two letters in question, then to another one. “And we do use this one, but only with another letter after it – which is not the case here.”

“That’s a ‘c’. It can be, uh, you pronounce it either as an ‘s’ or as a ‘k’. Depends on the word.”

“And how do you know?” Lexa asks, raising an eyebrow.

“You, uh… Okay, I see your point about English”, Clarke sighs. “This letter is an ‘x’, which can be pronounced either ‘gz’ or ‘ks’, and this one is a ‘q’, mainly used with ‘u’ and pronounced ‘kw’.”

“Why do you have letters that can be replaced by other ones?” Lexa enquires.

“Because, uh, something about old languages or something, I can’t recall exactly”, Clarke shrugs.

“I still can’t read most of the words. ‘Ee lok-uh-d at his fa-k-uh’… It doesn’t make any sense.”

“I— What?” Clarke asks, confused, taking the book from Lexa’s hands and trying to understand what she was reading – which was: ‘I looked at his face’. “Oh. Okay! You are mispronouncing the words. The ‘I’ is pronounced ‘ai’, not just ‘ee’, ‘oo’ sounds closer to ‘u’ than ‘o’, and you don’t pronounce the ‘e’, so you have to say ‘lukd’ instead of ‘lok-uh-d’; as for ‘face’, well, the ‘a’ is actually an ‘ei’, the ‘c’ is an ‘s’ here and the ‘e’ isn’t pronounced this time either.”

“I much prefer to speak Gonasleng than read it”, Lexa sighs. She’s probably as close to whining as she’ll ever get, which amuses Clarke a great deal – though she doesn’t show it.

Who knew the only thing it took to destabilize the fierce Commander of the twelve clans was a book for teenagers?

“It’s called English”, Clarke answers, fighting a smile. “And it’ll grow on you.”

*

Clarke spends close to an hour helping Lexa with the words she encounters, writing some of them down and detailing the pronunciation of some others – careful to use script writing and not cursive writing since Lexa can’t seem to decipher the latter properly. It lulls her into a sense of familiarity and friendliness that she’s far from feeling but that washes over her all the same; she gets a glimpse of what could have been without Lexa’s betrayal at Mount Weather, and she hates the fact that she longs for it. She aches for a sense of normalcy, for occasions like this one where she can pretend she’s still the same Clarke that roamed the corridors of the Ark – the Clarke that didn’t have blood on her hands and the weight of the world on her shoulders. She wants, _needs_ to just be herself for a while, without people looking up to her and always expecting her to save the day no matter the cost.

And she hates that, of all people, it’s _Lexa_ who is able to give her that.

(Maybe it’s because Lexa _understands_ , but she doesn’t want to think about this at all.)

For a moment, just a moment, the relentless battle of emotions inside of her quiets down. Just like the previous day when she was drawing next to the ocean, she feels quite at peace instead of a broken mess; there are no tears that threaten to spill, no dark thoughts leaving her worn out and defeated in their wake. Her anger has faded into the background – much thanks to Lexa’s help, though _she doesn’t want to think about that_  –, and she can’t deny that she feels better since she arrived in Polis.

She gets up to find a book for herself when Lexa’s presence at her side becomes too intoxicating, when silence settles in more often than not because the Commander is starting to be able to understand words on her own, using Clarke’s notes and her memory, when it gives her too much time to think about that young woman that haunts her no matter how hard she tries to emotionally distantiate herself from her.

She finds a sci-fi book – a genre they didn’t have much of on the Ark – and decides to give it a shot. She slips back in her seat next to Lexa and starts reading, only looking up when the Commander asks her for help. It’s strange for her to discover a hypothetical universe set about mid-22nd century – the writers’ future but her present –, where the war never happened and where humans kept progressing, moving around in flying cars and wearing body armors to improve their abilities. It seems laughable in many ways, but she also finds herself mourning this happier universe that never was and never would be. A part of her wonders who she would have become if she had been born in this world – whether she would have grown up to be even remotely like her current self or whether she would have been an entirely different person.

Silence stretches out while she gets lost in her own thoughts, and it takes Clarke quite a while to realize that Lexa hasn’t asked her anything in a long time. If not for the stealthy side glances the Commander regularly throws her way, Clarke would think Lexa has gotten a good sense of the spelling of English – instead, it looks like she’s holding back a question.

At least that’s what Clarke thinks when she asks a simple “what?” as she puts down her book, wondering what mystery of English Lexa is not daring enquire about.

Given the confused look that is thrown her way, she clarifies: “You look like you want to say something.”

Lexa gives a small nod and glances away, discreetly clearing her throat before meeting Clarke’s eyes again. “The braids suit you”, she admits quietly. “And so do our clothes.”

Clarke bites the inside of her lips to keep herself from smiling in amusement at Lexa’s slightly flushed face – who would have known the almighty Commander of the twelve clans gets flustered when she compliments a girl?

“Read” is her only reply, her voice coming out more gentle and less clipped than she meant it to be; she wishes she was annoyed, she wishes she had an acerbic retort to let out, but she can’t find anything to answer apart from this simple word.

(Of course, it’d be easier to find something, anything, if she hadn’t caught herself actually liking Lexa’s compliment.)

 

* * *

 

“May I see you, Heda?”

Clarke turns to look at the man who opened the door of the room they are currently in; Lexa does the same next to her.

“You can speak freely in front of Clarke, Titus”, Lexa indicates.

“Yes, Heda”, he nods. “Roan has returned. He is waiting for you in the throne room.”

“Thank you, Titus”, Lexa says when she sees the man is not leaving.

He finally nods again and turns around, closing the door behind him. It’s obvious he was expecting the Commander to follow him, but Lexa simply waits for Clarke to voice one of the questions that can be read in her eyes.

“Where has Roan been?”

“I had him show the guards I sent with him where to watch carefully the border between Trikru’s territory and Azgeda’s. He knows about the Ice Queen’s strategies better than anyone else”, Lexa explains.

“And you trust him?!” Clarke questions incredulously. “He could be leading them _away_ from the paths the warriors would take!”

“Yes. I do trust him.”

This statement is so unlike Lexa that Clarke only gapes for a while. “Why?” she finally asks when she finds her voice again. Lexa takes a deep breath but doesn’t answer immediately, which prompts Clarke to continue. “If you expect _me_ to trust him in the future, since he’s kind of involved in all this, I need an explanation.”

Lexa visibly gulps and looks away, staring at the book in front of her instead of Clarke. “After Nia killed Costia, he came to Polis unarmed. He knew I could end his life on the spot if I wanted to, and I almost did. But he didn’t come on Nia’s behalf, or even to apologize for what her mother did – though he _did_ apologize for being unable to prevent it from happening. He came to bring Costia’s belongings back to me.”

The ache in Lexa’s voice is obvious, much like the first time she mentioned Costia – which was how Clarke had figured out Lexa was lying when she pretended she had stopped caring.

“I do trust him because he has provided me with useful information more than once since that day”, Lexa continues, turning to Clarke again, “since he told me he disagrees with his mother’s rule and wants to change it.”

“Then why haven’t the both of you overthrown the Ice Queen, uh, Nia, yet?” Clarke asks, narrowing her eyes.

“The Coalition is not strong enough to afford political scandals. I may be the Commander of the twelve clans, but I am not to do more than oversee the way each leader rules. I would need a valid reason to intervene.”

“Murdering Costia was not a good enough reason?!”

Clarke can almost physically see the way Lexa erects walls around her feelings to shut them away. It’s obvious in the way her spine straightens; in the way her usual emotionless mask slips firmly back into place on her face. Clarke knows her question hurt Lexa and she wants to find pleasure in that fact, in hurting Lexa’s feelings like Lexa hurt hers, but the only thing she finds in herself is emptiness. A part of her even regrets asking that question – though she is, in fact, interested in its answer.

“I had not yet formed the Coalition. My personal revenge would have greatly compromised future negotiations”, Lexa replies through her teeth in a low voice.

(Head over heart. Of course.)

(Clarke can’t help but fleetingly wonder how many times Lexa has had to make this kind of decisions.)

“And we are not here to discuss the politics of the past, Clarke, rather those of the present.”

“Right. Then why aren’t you using Nia’s current power play against her?”

“The fact that your people – the people _I_ once decided to made an alliance with – could become the new Mountain Men is an argument in her favor rather than in mine”, Lexa points out.

Clarke takes a deep breath and releases it slowly through her nose. The mention of Mount Weather keeps bringing its fair share of images that she’d rather forget, despite her relatively better mental health overall since Lexa took her to the orphanage two days ago.

“What do you mean?” she asks, trying to prevent her voice from trembling.

“Your people have been seen going back to the Mountain. Those who know fear you will use their technology to seek revenge.”

Clarke shakes her head. “They wouldn’t do that. They wouldn’t be stupid enough to start a war again.”

“Maybe not. But neither you nor I can say this with absolute certainty, and Nia knows _that_ too. If she came forward saying she secured the risk posed by the Mountain, there is a strong chance the clans would turn against me.”

“So she’d gain control of the Coalition.”

“Yes.”

“Okay. And this would be such a bad thing because?” Clarke challenges. The only thing she knows of the Ice Queen after all is that she tortured and killed Costia – a horrible act in itself indeed, but Clarke did also witness Lexa order a man to be beaten to death for nothing more than protesting against welcoming the Sky People in his village after Finn killed his family.

Granted, she convinced Lexa to let him live in the end, but the Commander did so only reluctantly.

Thus, as much as she’s grateful she didn’t end up captured by Nia’s warriors in the woods, Clarke can’t not wonder if an alliance with the Ice Nation wouldn’t be worth considering after all.

Lexa narrows her eyes. “You once called us savages”, she answers in an icy tone, “but you know nothing of cruelty. You would, however, discover it should she get my power. This is something I can assure you of.”

“And the other clan leaders know about this? About her?”

“They know she is merciless, but many of them respect what they see as strength. My people would abide by her rule because they know of pain, but her ways would crush yours.”

“She wouldn’t have power over us”, Clarke frowns.

“If she cut your access to the Mountain and attacked with an army much like I once almost did, don’t you think she would wipe you out should she want to?” Lexa questions, raising an eyebrow.

Clarke sighs. “Yeah, I see your point. She can’t get Mount Weather. But you said I should be safe in Polis, so it pulled the rug from under her feet, didn’t it?”

“She doesn’t _need_ you to begin negotiations with Skaikru”, Lexa counters. “You were only an easy way in.”

“I left three months ago, I hardly see how I’m an easy way in.”

“Again, you are Wanheda and my people respect your strength. I don’t think Nia realizes that the way you choose your leaders is different from the one of the clans, and I don’t think she knows you weren’t with your people either.”

“Did you?”

“Yes”, Lexa admits. “Which is why Roan found you rather quickly.”

“How?” Clarke practically growls.

“One of my warriors saw you turn away from your camp, and you were spotted at the river several times during the last few months.”

“… Did you keep tabs on my people after you betrayed us? Keep tabs on me?!”

Lexa nods and simply answers: “Yes.”

“Oh, I can’t fucking believe you”, Clarke chuckles humorlessly. “You have some nerve!”

“I must be ready should your people decide to retaliate. I am sure you can understand that, Clarke.”

The latter gets up from her chair, grits her teeth and stares Lexa down. “Oh, what I do understand is what all of this means. Do you even care about my people right now? About me?” she asks, knowing full well the last question is a low blow. “Or are we just tools to make sure _your_ people are safe? To make sure you keep your throne? The Ice Queen is such a big threat now because I made you look weak when I k— when I defeated the Mountain Men _after_ you turned around, didn’t I?” Clarke figures. “Tell me: are your people starting to question your authority? Your decisions?”

“I _do_ care about you, Clarke”, Lexa hisses, getting up too to face the other young woman. “And I make the decisions I must. I do not have the luxury of acting on personal interests – not at Mount Weather, not now, not ever. I can merely be glad when they align with my obligations to my people. And at the moment, I believe Skaikru and I have a common enemy.”

“So what, you want us to fight together again so you can once more get all the benefit while I’m left behind to do the dirty work to save my friends?” Clarke seethes. The conversation is reigniting the fire of anger that had died down in her veins; this time though, it stems from the present rather than from the past. “My people will _never_ accept another alliance with you anyway. Hell, _I_ sure as hell wouldn’t!”

“I know”, Lexa replies, her voice softening. “Your people would probably not even hear me, which is why I need your help.”

“So that’s why you brought me back here, huh?” Clarke scoffs and shakes her head with a disillusioned smile. “You could have sent someone to _warn_ me about the danger I was in and let me choose what I wanted to do, but you had Roan _abduct_ me to bring me back to you because you _need_ me and you knew I wouldn’t come willingly – well, I did come willingly, but that’s beside the point.”

“I brought you here because I wanted to make sure you’d be safe”, Lexa corrects.

“So let me tell you something: you went to all that trouble for nothing”, Clarke continues, ignoring Lexa’s interruption. “I left. I’m not my people’s leader anymore – and to be fair I never was anyway, I just took command when I knew I had to. So go talk to Roan and then figure something out with Kane or my mother, whoever is the Chancellor at the moment, but leave me out of your games.”

“You _are_ a leader, Clarke, it’s in your blood and we both know it. We also both know your people won’t listen to me without your help, and I do not believe you will sit by and do nothing when the only other alternative is to let Nia reach out to them.”

Clarke sets her jaw but doesn’t answer. As much as she wishes she could just ignore this conversation – pretend it never happened so she could stay out of politics for the rest of her life –, she knows deep down that Lexa is right: she can’t knowingly let her people be misled and put in danger. She wants to permanently let go of the responsibilities she took on when they first landed, to waste away her days drawing in front of the ocean, but she would never forgive herself if she did. Once more, she’s the one who knows what the best course of action is, and she’ll do what she has to – including fight against them if she has to, to make sure they’re as safe as they can be. Even if it means sacrificing her own well-being in the process – because Lexa _is_ right, it’s indeed who she is.

She hates to acknowledge it, even just to herself, but in many ways, she is similar to the Commander. She can’t afford to be herself – to do what she wishes she could do – when her people are in the balance. She kills if she has to, she betrays if she has to, she makes inconceivable decisions if she has to; she does anything she can to avoid any of this, but when she has no choice left, she saves them no matter the cost and then bears the weight of what she did in their stead.

Just like Lexa.

Which is why there will always be two parts of them: the teenagers they still are, who can read next to each other peacefully despite their broken hearts and all the history there is between them, and the leaders they need to be, who will tear each other down without second thoughts if they have to.

Irony has its way, Clarke thinks, since she starts to understand that turning around at Mount Weather probably hurt Lexa just as much as it hurt her… right when they have to put their armors back on and face a tough situation again.

(To understand, or to acknowledge?)

(She doesn’t want to dwell on the question.)

Confronted with Clarke’s stubborn silence, the Commander resumes: “I cannot force you to join the discussions, Clarke, but your presence would be greatly valued. If you change your mind, I’ll be in the throne room.”

Lexa then moves around Clarke and starts to leave, immediately easing the tension in the room by doing so; she opens the door but doesn’t get to cross the threshold because Clarke calls after her, eventually voicing the inevitable conclusion that stands out in the middle of her internal turmoil. “Wait.”

She doesn’t need to say more. They both understand.

“Thank you”, Lexa says, so low that it’s rather a whisper.

“I’m not doing this for you”, Clarke shoots back, catching up with the Commander who stopped to wait for her.

“I know”, Lexa simply replies as she closes the door behind them. “But I am still grateful to you.”

Clarke doesn’t waste her time arguing; she rather tries to muster up enough courage to face what is waiting for her – even though she can’t do much more than hope not to find herself burning down to ashes when it is all over.

She fears there would be no coming back from it this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Gonasleng” = “Warrior language” [“English”]  
> “Certes” (French) = “Of course” (in an ironical way in this context)  
> “Dison laik Karmila kom Noukru. Teik em ste soulou, em sad hosh op... En em ste kom pakstoka disha sintaim – pri enti en pis.” = “This is Carmilla from no-kru. Leave her alone, she likes quiet… And she’s like a wolf today – quite angry and hungry.”  
> “Kom pakstoka ou kom pauna?” = “Like a wolf or like a gorilla?”  
> “Os prom.” = “Good question.”  
> “Heda, yu don biyo ‘Noukru’?” = “Heda, you said ‘no-kru’?”  
> “Yu mema thri bakon-de kom Heda in? Ai gaf in noun en fiyanes mou kom uf disha taim kos em ste fleimen.” = “Do you remember the three pillars of being Heda? I need wisdom and compassion more than I need strength this time, because she is valuable.”  
> “Strik gona” = “Little warriors”


	5. Part I: Black - Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So uh, remember how we previously said there would be 5 chapters instead of 4 in Part II? Well, make it 6. We just finished it and we still have to edit the whole Part II, so the next update will probably in a little over a month too. The good news, though, is that we'll update faster while we write Part III as a result!  
> \----------  
> “Look up and not down, look forward and not back, look out and not in, and lend a hand.” - Edward Everett Hale

“What are you doing here again, Titus?” Lexa demands, coming to a stop in an aisle with Clarke at her side when she sees him round the corner.

“You were not coming, Heda”, he explains, “so I thought…”

“You thought you could bring Roan down to the library instead of waiting for me”, she finishes coldly in his stead.

Titus has just enough tact to look contrite. “Yes, Heda.”

“Then you can turn around, now.”

“But—”

“Oh, I never thought I would once miss mean-looking librarians who shush everyone who dares speak above a whisper”, Carmilla half-sighs, half-groans out loud.

Titus visibly jolts at the voice seemingly coming out of nowhere. “Who is talking?”

“A ghost”, Carmilla replies sarcastically, and Lexa lets out an imperceptible sigh.

(It almost makes Clarke smile. For once, _for once_ , she’s not the one who feels annoyed by Carmilla the most.)

“This place is haunted, apparently.”

Both Roan and Titus jump and turn around simultaneously, though Roan’s reaction is a lot more controlled than Titus’s one. Carmilla’s voice had been coming from a lot farther away until then, but this time the sound originates from right behind the two men.

“You”, Roan says evenly, though he does quirk an eyebrow at her.

“In all her glory”, Carmilla smirks. “Missed me?”

“I wouldn’t put it like that”, Roan deadpans, his eyes narrowing.

“Sounds legit, given that you left as soon as you could… Or was it because you were afraid paintface would make you pay for Clarke’s poor attempt on her life?” Carmilla sneers.

“How do you know about that?” Titus cuts in, his voice sharp.

“Seriously?” Carmilla scoffs. “I was there, cretin! Anyway”, she continues, turning back to Roan, “I’m surprised you’re not dead. Though I would have been pissed if you were, since I was the one supposed to kill you – and I’m still waiting for that to happen, by the way. So, he got a free pass or something?” she asks Lexa, who’s barely visible behind the two men.

“Who are you?” Titus demands.

That’s when Lexa loses patience.

“SHOF OP! All of you. We have much more important matters to discuss.”

“Yes. Of course, Heda”, Titus says, bowing his head.

“Yeah right, because everything is always _so_ important with y’all”, Carmilla comments mockingly, holding back the ‘humans’ word just in time. “Let’s talk about what really matters here: why is this one still alive?”

Lexa almost answers before she determines that it would be a waste of time. She has no particular desire to exchange verbal blows with Carmilla again, nor does she have enough patience for that at the moment. She doesn’t owe her an explanation either – she owes explanations to _no one_ , though she’s well aware she makes exceptions when Clarke is concerned –, so she doesn’t waste time properly introducing Roan to Carmilla. She has a feeling the weird-dead-but-not-dead woman would not care much about his title anyway.

“Follow me”, she orders as she turns around and makes her way back to the room she and Clarke left only moments ago. Since they are all in the library, she decides they might as well settle there around a table instead of going back to the throne room after all.

“Seriously, again?! Isn’t ignoring me so yesterday now?!” Carmilla complains incredulously, following the small group absent-mindedly though she has no intention of listening to their sure-to-be-boring conversation.

No one replies, so she changes tactics. “Not worth an answer? Fine. Then I suppose you won’t mind if I do kill him”, she smiles, licking her lips in anticipation.

“You couldn’t even if you tried”, Titus says in disbelief as he turns around, a knife in his hand anyway should the small woman in front of him turn out to be more resourceful than expected.

Not the least bit impressed by the knife, Carmilla merely raises an eyebrow at the sight of it. “Does anyone even respect your ‘no weapons allowed’ sign?”

“I am Heda’s advisor. This rule does not apply to me”, Titus retorts.

“Oh, so you’re the one who apparently doesn’t know what Europe is? You seem useful”, Carmilla shoots back sarcastically.

About three seconds later, Titus is disarmed and on the floor, the sole of Carmilla’s boot pressing on his chest. “Can I kill _him_?” she pouts as Roan, Clarke and Lexa glare at her.

“No!”

“Why can’t I kill either of these two?!” Carmilla huffs.

“Can you, I don’t know, go back to your lair and read again?” Clarke snaps, speaking for the first time since she and Lexa left the room. She is tense enough as it is because of the conversation that is about to happen so she didn’t say anything until then, but she has to intervene when Carmilla’s extravagance starts to really worsen her state of mind.

“This is funnier”, the vampire shrugs even as she lets Titus get back up – she keeps the knife, though. “But fine, egg-face and the coward get to live for now. _If_ you two stop ignoring me”, she bargains.

“ _Thank you_ ”, Clarke grumbles, even if it doesn’t sound genuine at all – and she blatantly ignores the ‘stop ignoring me’ part entirely.

They all resume walking, and no one says another word until they’re sat around the table in the room where Clarke taught Lexa the basics of reading English. Carmilla is the only one who stays up, leaning against the wall.

“Has Azgeda tried to make contact with Skaikru yet?” Lexa asks.

“I don’t think so”, Roan answers; he’s wise enough not to question why the Commander allows Carmilla to listen to this conversation. “Nia couldn’t have heard about Clarke’s presence here before I showed your guards the right spots to watch the border, but it is only a matter of days. She will find a way through if she sends enough warriors – and she will.”

“I know. We don’t have much time. Which offer do you think Nia would approach Skaikru with?”

“She will use their resentment against you to gain their trust – make you the common enemy. Now, you can also expect her to use Wanheda’s presence here to fuel their ill feelings.”

Clarke cuts in, frowning. “Why?”

Roan stays mute and turns to his Commander instead, asking a silent question with his gaze alone.

“You may speak to Clarke as if she were me”, Lexa nods.

Despite his restraint, Roan’s eyes then drift to Carmilla, who’s looking at them with an utterly bored expression on her face, and Lexa nods again.

“Pretend she isn’t there”, she adds – because Carmilla could maybe prove to have useful advice, but mostly because she has no choice. She has seen enough of the cat-human’s powers to be quite certain she couldn’t force her out of the room even if she wanted to; for someone both as fierce and as mistrustful as her, it’s a hard pill to swallow, but she can’t do anything about it.

Carmilla glares at Lexa, though the Commander doesn’t turn her head to look back at her. “Wow, thanks for the consideration! You sure know how to make a girl feel special”, she grumbles.

“You are staying in Polis: Trikru’s Capital”, Roan resumes, finally answering Clarke’s question. “It’s not that far of a stretch to assume you are a prisoner here, and Nia will certainly try to convince Skaikru of as much.”

He keeps the rest of his thoughts to himself, smart enough not to mention the difference in Clarke’s attitude towards Lexa since he last saw her… Or the fact that the Commander is treating her as an equal mere days after an attempt on her life – especially given that it’s not too hard for him to guess why.

“So we’ll need to prove that it’s not the case before talking politics”, Clarke sighs, “otherwise my people will indeed clearly not listen to a word you have to say.”

“Are you not the leader of Skaikru?” Roan frowns. “You would simply have to go back.”

“I’m not anyone’s leader”, Clarke replies, swallowing thickly, “apart from when I have no choice. I’m fairly certain they wouldn’t listen to me if I returned to Camp Jaha.”

What she doesn’t say is that she just _can’t_ return anyway; it’s too soon, and she’s absolutely not prepared to face what she left behind. She will handle the political talks to the best of her abilities, but she’ll avoid doing more like the plague until she’s ready for it.

Which might very well be never.

“Clarke will stay in Polis where I can ensure her safety”, Lexa adds, providing Clarke with an excuse to take the option of going back to her people off the table – understanding where the issue lies without needing to hear what was left unsaid.

(Of course, Lexa immediately knows what to read between the words. Of course.)

(Sometimes, Clarke wonders if Lexa doesn’t understand her better than she understands herself these days.)

“We have to settle on a deal that we can reasonably approach Skaikru with”, the Commander continues, putting the focus of the discussion back on the main matter.

“Wait, I don’t get it”, Carmilla cuts in. “Why would you need a deal? Isn’t there an alliance or something already?”

“Not anymore”, Lexa replies evenly, avoiding Clarke’s eyes and wishing Carmilla would just go back to being quiet.

No such luck, obviously.

“Why did you break it?”

“I did not plan to”, Lexa answers through gritted teeth.

“Yeah okay, you betrayed her and all that, I guess it had its corollaries”, Carmilla deduces, “but since things are back to whatever your definition of normal is, what’s the problem? Aren’t you the all-powerful _Captain_ of the alliance or something?”

Clarke briefly closes her eyes and forces herself to stay calm. She decides she won’t let Carmilla get under her skin this time – especially since, _for once_ , the vampire is not even trying to.

“I am the _Commander_ of the twelve clans indeed”, Lexa growls, “but Skaikru was never part of the Coalition.”

“They weren’t pa— What? But why—” Carmilla starts, confused, then sighs deeply and mutters: “Oh, whatever. Why am I even talking? I hate politics and I don’t care. Have fun with your boring talk.”

And with that she leaves the room, mumbling something about ‘humans’, ‘annoying’, ‘never change’, ‘post-apocalyptic medieval soap opera’ and ‘out of here’ – set on catching some sleep in Clarke’s comfortable and currently empty bed while she can.

“Wouldn’t it work to just expose Nia’s plan to Skaikru?” Roan questions once Carmilla is gone. “Play the card of honesty?”

“They would be suspicious anyway. Anything coming from Lexa now – they’ll wonder if it’s not just a technique to make sure there is no retaliation”, Clarke sighs.

“And if it comes from you?” Roan asks, arching a brow.

“I’ve lived in the woods for the past three months. I doubt they’ll trust my judgment.”

Clarke doesn’t expand on the reasons why her people would be distrustful, but she could have easily added their own political problems, as well as the lack of common sense that the adults from the Ark often displayed in the past when it came to making the right decisions on the Ground – something that she doubts improved in her absence. Neither Roan nor Lexa really need to know about that.

“But we can’t play them or purposefully hide information from them either”, Lexa states. “If they were to learn about it, it would ruin our credibility and worsen our relations in the future.”

(And it would also put her people at risk while Skaikru have access to Mount Weather, Lexa adds mentally, but she keeps the thought to herself.)

“Besides, it would play to Nia’s advantage”, Roan agrees.

“Great. Now that we’ve settled on not taking my people for fools”, Clarke says in a biting tone, “maybe we can talk about what we _should_ do?!”

*

They discuss their options for more than an hour, Titus regularly providing advice based on historical facts though it doesn’t help them much: Lexa herself is pretty well-versed in negotiation techniques already – she did manage to unite the twelve clans before she even turned twenty after all. Clarke quickly starts to feel like they’re running in circles, but she can’t find anything else to suggest and it gets on her nerves. Unlike Roan and Lexa, who stay calm and patient on the other side of the table, the conversation makes her restless to the point where she gets up and starts pacing up and down after a particularly exasperating exchange.

She’s been arguing non-stop with Roan for a while when she notices the Commander has been quiet for an uncharacteristically long period of time. “Lexa?” she asks, frowning, causing silence to settle into the room.

“Leave us”, the Commander tells Roan and Titus after a few seconds.

The two men nod and obey without discussion.

“I have an idea, but you are not going to like it”, Lexa resumes once they are out of the room; Clarke’s eyebrows tick up, but she doesn’t say anything. “I want your people to become my people.”

“You— What?!” Clarke exclaims with wide eyes.

“I want Skaikru to become a thirteenth clan”, Lexa repeats in a slightly different way. It’s Carmilla who gave her this idea with her questions, and she’s been studying its feasibility as well as weighing its pros and its cons ever since; ultimately, she likes about everything that this extended Coalition would mean. She never thought about it herself because she always considered Skaikru a foreign entity, but it makes sense. A _lot_ of sense. It gives everyone a real opportunity to coexist in peace in the future.

If Clarke’s people don’t ruin her efforts with acts of war like they systematically tend to do, of course.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“It’s the surest way to protect both our people, Clarke. It prevents Nia from forming an alliance with Skaikru, and it will limit her ability to gain approval among the other clans. It weakens her power. On another note, your people have a lot to gain from this: you would, among other things, enter our trade system, and we could teach you essential survival skills such as hunting efficiently. It is also the best protection I can offer you: if you move under my authority, events such as those who played out at Mount Weather will never happen again. Your people being mine, I would never have to choose.”

“Let’s put aside for a moment the fact that my people will never agree to this”, Clarke replies, “and let me remind you of what happened in TonDC: they were _your_ people, but you let them burn all the same. So I don’t see how becoming a thirteenth clan is in any way a guarantee that you wouldn’t sacrifice some of _my_ people for whatever greater good if it meant saving many more.”

“It is not. I cannot make any promises, not even to myself. But removing Skaikru from the equation in Nia’s plan would aim to stop the war that is brewing – help us maintain peace so none of us ever has to make a decision like this one again. So we can finally learn to truly live together.”

“And what happened to the ‘you’re invaders on my land’ you threw at me two days ago?” Clarke bites out. “How do I know you’re not trying to play me?”

Lexa gets up to stare Clarke down at eye level. “Your people _are_ invaders”, she states with a dangerously low voice. “But I cannot send you back in the sky, so my only two options are wiping you out or trying to live peacefully with you. I believe you’ll prefer the second one.”

“Let me be clear, Lexa: I don’t trust you”, Clarke retorts dryly, not breaking eye contact. “But I know you. You’re too smart to offer something like that with no counterpart. So what’s your goal here? What are you not telling me?”

“I believe determining the future of the Mountain is something you’d rather I discuss with your elected leader, Clarke”, Lexa answers, her voice still quiet but softening. “And I wouldn’t ask you to trust me; certainly not now. You can however trust that I want what is best for both our people.”

Clarke shakes her head. “This would never work. This _will_ never work. You have betrayed us once already… I doubt any of my people want anything to do with you; and even if I could convince them to listen to you, they’ll never accept to relinquish power.”

“They wouldn’t have to”, Lexa counters. “Every clan keeps their leader and their own ways. I only intervene regarding matters of war and peace. The Coalition is just that: a Coalition – not a monarchy.”

Monarchy. That’s a word Clarke didn’t expect Lexa to know, and she scolds herself. She needs to stop underestimating the Commander’s knowledge.

“And how can you assure us that said Coalition can’t be broken just like the alliance was?”

“There would be a ceremony with every clan’s representative to officialize Skaikru as the thirteenth member. Once it is over, your people would be every other clan’s equals. There is nothing more secure I can offer you.”

Clarke doesn’t reply anything, rather contemplating the different options the Arkers have, and she has to admit Lexa’s offer is quite interesting – not to mention that it seems to be the best course of action available at the moment. She’s certainly not going to accept it blindly and she sure as hell will take precautions this time, but she’s ready to give it a try. Whether her mother and Kane will listen to her and reach the same conclusions is a whole other story, though, but a plan is starting to form in her mind and she thinks it might stand a chance.

“Two more things”, Clarke finally says. “You said every clan would be present during the ceremony… Does this mean they would all have to agree to accept us as the thirteenth clan?”

“Yes”, Lexa confirms with a nod.

“And won’t the Ice Nation be a problem?!”

“Roan will act as Azgeda’s representative, pretending to have been sent by his mother as a substitute. If the other clans believe Nia supports this, they will as well.”

“Makes sense”, Clarke muses.

“And the second thing?” Lexa asks when silence settles in.

Clarke sighs. “I can’t make this decision myself. I’ll have to get the current Chancellor here and you’ll have to convince them. I’ll help as much as I can, but ultimately it won’t be my decision to make.”

Lexa nods once, slowly. “I understand that.”

The gratitude and the flicker of hope in the Commander’s eyes ignite a spark inside of Clarke, who is both on edge and exhausted after the day she had. She can’t stand it.

“I’m only doing this for my people”, she adds dryly, almost snapping.

Lexa nods again, though sadness creeps its way onto her face this time. A part of Clarke doesn’t care but another smaller part does, and she sighs as she softens her voice a bit.

“I think the easiest way to contact my people is to send them a letter. My mom will recognize my handwriting, so there won’t be any doubts about the sender. I’ll write it now, but one of your messengers will have to go give it to her at Camp Jaha.”

“I will send Indra”, Lexa agrees. The former Chief of TondDC, now head of the guards in Polis, is an easy choice: trustworthy and already known by many Skaikru people.

Without another word, Clarke grabs the pile of paper she used earlier to explain phonology to Lexa and searches for several blank pages. She’s quite sure everything she needs to write will be long.

*

It takes her over an hour to finish. Her left wrist hurts like hell by then and she’s relieved when she finally puts the pencil down, ready to read everything again and to make sure she didn’t forget anything. The great part about Grounders – even Titus – being entirely unable to read cursive writing is that she can afford to go into details that no one else than her people need to know about, and she had quite a lot of that to do in the letter.

“It’s done”, she tells the Commander once she’s gone over the whole thing – correcting some mistakes and adding things here and there.

Putting down the book she was painfully trying to go through again since Clarke started writing, Lexa gets up and moves around the table to grab the letter handed to her. “I’ll send Indra right away”, she says before slipping out of the room.

It’s only then that it hits Clarke – how much Lexa trusts her, sending something she can’t know the content of for sure to people who might be wishing to seek revenge against her. Had their roles been switched, Clarke is quite certain she would never have taken such a risk.

Troubled, she bites her lower lip and inhales deeply through her nose, then releases her breath in a shaky sigh. These are not the kind of thoughts she wants to dwell upon at the moment – far from it, even –, so she pushes them aside as best as she can.

It isn’t even dark outside yet but she aches for a comfortable bed and a good night of sleep already, so she decides to go back to her room. If she’s lucky enough, she thinks, there could be a nice meal waiting for her there.

 

* * *

 

There’s indeed a tray full of food in her room, and the sight of it causes Clarke’s stomach to growl: it seems she’ll never stop being hungry after her time in the woods. Lexa often sends someone to bring her a deliciously cooked meal before she even makes it back to her room, and she would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate this kind thought.

Something she appreciates a lot less, however, is finding Carmilla asleep in her bed _yet another fucking time_.

So since the last shreds of her patience were lost sometime during the discussions about her people and the Ice Queen, she doesn’t waste time trying to be nice. She’s tired, she’s hungry, she wants nothing more than to eat in her comfortable bed then sleep in it, and Carmilla is at no point a part of that plan.

Clarke strides to the bed and pulls harshly on the furs. “Get up. Shut up. And get out”, she orders.

Carmilla blinks herself awake, startled by the sudden rush of fresh air against her skin. “Okay, what the hell? What has gotten into you?!” she exclaims.

“This is _my_ bed. You’re in it. Again. I want it back. Now”, Clarke demands – and by her tone, it’s clear she won’t take no for an answer.

She could have been talking with the most joyful voice ever for all Carmilla cares, though, because the vampire doesn’t move an inch.

“I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but I actually liked you better when you were making two-hour-long sentences”, Carmilla grumbles. “Besides, how is me sleeping in ‘your’ bed when you’re not in it that much of a problem?” she adds, drawing air quotes as she says the word ‘your’.

“It’s not, I just want you out of it when I come back”, Clarke shoots back. “Which is _now_.”

“Can I at least know why you’re biting my head off right now?!”

“Long day”, Clarke answers in a clipped tone.

Carmilla scoffs. “It’s not even fully dark outside yet.”

“I just dealt with politics for almost three hours after you left”, Clarke says through gritted teeth. “Meanwhile, you _slept_. Good for you. Now it’s my turn. So _get out_ of my room.”

“Oh sure, you’re obviously going to fall asleep with that level of anger”, Carmilla notes sarcastically.

“I’m not angry, I’m _tired_ ”, Clarke retorts.

“Ooooh… Do I want to know what the Captain and you did in the library all afternoon for you to be that exhausted?” Carmilla grins devilishly. “Was it politics or, well, _politics_?”

Clarke takes a deep breath, then exhales slowly to try to keep her cool.

It doesn’t work that well.

“Does wondering if she’s trying to double-cross me and if I’m leading my people into a trap qualify as foreplay to you?!” she bites out.

“Oh please, why would anyone make up some elaborate scheme against you when they could just… I don’t know, attack and wipe you out? And you’d have to be stupid to think she would do that.”

“No, _she_ ’d be stupid if she wanted to do that”, Clarke retorts. “My people have guns, and—” She stops, forcing down her throat the lump that just appeared in it. “If they used Mount Weather’s technology, it’s Lexa’s army that wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Oh, so she wants to prevent mass murder, what a bitch!”

“Yeah, of _her_ people!”

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “But it’s not like it’s her job, right… Oh wait, it actually is!” she sasses, giving Clarke a pointed look.

“Yeah… So what if she wants to make my people the thirteenth clan just so she can secure the risk that is Mount Weather? And move against my people afterwards?”

Clarke wonders why she’s even saying any of this, and to Carmilla who never agrees with her anyway of all people, but she also realizes talking about Mount Weather is just a bit less hard than a few days ago. It’s not much, really, but still enough for her to notice.

“She’s been repeatedly indulgent with your trigger-happy people so far”, Carmilla starts, more and more pissed off by Clarke’s attitude, “she didn’t wipe out the invaders that you are as soon as you arrived, she’s apparently willing to give you some land you have no right on and you’re just here whining about— Why am I even saying this?” Carmilla mutters to herself. “How did I end up here?”

“You followed me to Polis”, Clarke huffs. “And I won’t make the mistake to trust her again. I learnt my lesson with the betrayal.”

“Which she didn’t plan, and has been trying to make up to you. Would it physically hurt you to stop complaining _just for once_ and realize that EVERYTHING that has happened since we arrived a été dans ton sens?” She pauses to think for a second when she sees Clarke’s confused frown, and she realizes that she’s switched to French without noticing. “Has revolved around what _you_ want”, she translates as well as she can, annoyed.

“That’s different”, Clarke argues.

“She says left, you find fault with it, she says right, you find fault with it, she’d say don’t move and you’d fucking find fault with it too.”

“I don’t—”

“Well at least _she_ makes valid propositions; so now, let me tell you something, _Clarke_ ”, Carmilla hisses, raising her voice in anger. “Get your head out of your ass, give us all a break and _stop_ being a _child_ for five fucking minutes!!!!”

She gets up and strides away, feeling like she needs to punch something – or someone…

“And don’t leave crumbs everywhere in the bed”, she warns as she opens the door, then slams it behind her.

(She has no patience to deal with the startled guards that _really_ don’t understand how someone who _didn’t_ come in could get _out_ of Clarke’s room, so she just teleports out of the tower. She needs a good hunt to take out her frustration and her seething anger.)

*

Left alone in her room, Clarke releases a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding. The way Carmilla said her name is still echoing in her ears and it feels like claws against her skin, uncomfortable or even painful; but mostly, what she notices is how different ‘Clarke’ feels on Lexa’s tongue – no matter whether the Commander’s tone is soft or biting or questioning, it’s also _always_ something akin to reverent.

And Clarke had gotten used to hearing her name uttered only by this voice.

It’s not what she thinks about the most, though, for her argument with the vampire fills every space at the forefront of her mind.

The worst part is that she knows Carmilla’s reasoning makes sense – and on several levels –, she just… can’t help it.

She knows Lexa has been doing everything she can to help her get better.

She knows Lexa harbors no ill-will against her people – though the Commander could frankly have reasons to.

She knows she doesn’t have any plan better than making the Arkers the thirteenth clan.

She knows it could be highly beneficial for them indeed if it works out.

She knows she took precautions to turn the situation to her advantage should the Commander try to double-cross her after all – if her people listen to her and actually do what she asked for, of course.

She _knows_.

She just can’t help it.

Her resentment towards Lexa renders her incapable of admitting any of this – not even to herself if she can avoid doing so… thus, of course, much less to Carmilla. The vampire has a tendency to run on her nerves with every word that comes out of her mouth; combined with her tiredness and how on edge Clarke feels, this leads to endless quarrels with arguments that fall on deaf ears on both sides.

(Though Carmilla would definitely say that Clarke is the only one who won’t listen.)

It’s not that she doesn’t trust _Lexa_ , it’s that she doesn’t trust _the Commander_. She made that mistake once (too many) already, and she’s not foolish enough to risk it again. She knows Lexa has nothing but good intentions, but she also knows the Commander will always choose her people first. And she understands it. She understands it way too well, even.

Granted, if Skaikru becomes a clan indeed, Clarke’s people would be Lexa’s people as well, but she just can’t believe no distinction would ever be made between them. She knows too much about the world’s history for that.

Even though her talk with Carmilla has made her lose half of her appetite, she brings the tray to the bed anyway and settles against a pile of pillows to eat her dinner. She tries to think about something else than politics and the letter she wrote and _Lexa_ , but somehow her mind always comes back to _her_.

She wishes she could do something about it.

She’s way too aware that she _can’t_.

And she _hates_ it.

(Except that’s not an entirely honest statement, even though she pretends it is with all that she has.)

Sleep doesn’t come easy to her that night.

 

* * *

 

Clarke spends the next few days between the library, the orphanage where she goes every morning, and her room. She has nothing in particular to do until her people arrive in Polis – assuming that they trust her judgment enough to follow Indra and actually come, of course –, so she uses her constant free time to do only things that make her feel well and help her get better – far away from anything even remotely close to politics.

She teaches Leia some drawing tricks she knows; she learns more Trigedasleng alongside children of various ages; she sits in classes with the sonkeryon, who follow courses in English; and she reads.

She relentlessly devours fictional stories of all genres, using them as an escapism from her current life.

Not only does she find comfort in the touch and in the smell of books, but there is something about entering a character’s intimacy – about learning about their sometimes incredible, sometimes awful experiences – that soothes her; seeing glimpses of other people’s burdens and how they deal with them helps her sort through her own conflicting emotions. The fact that she barely crosses paths with Lexa, who’s spending most of her time in meetings, certainly works to her advantage too, since she has a much harder time figuring out what she’s feeling exactly when she’s in the Commander’s presence.

She also purposefully avoids Carmilla and the often hard to bear truths the vampire seems to throw her way every time they’re alone in a room, deciding she’s had enough of these discussions for a good long while; thankfully, Carmilla doesn’t seek her company at all either. And given that, when she’s not hunting, the vampire only goes to two places that are the library and Clarke’s room – well, bed –, they end up falling into a routine without having consulted each other: Carmilla sleeps mostly during the day, and Clarke goes back to her room only when the vampire settles in her usual corner of the library for the night.

It’s halfway through the afternoon of the fifth day since Indra left when the door opens, much to Clarke’s surprise. She’s never seen anyone come in the library the previous days besides Carmilla and Titus, and neither usually come bothering her in the room she’s claimed as her own.

The person who crosses the threshold is someone else indeed.

Lexa casually walks in, but freezes almost immediately. She was expecting the room to be empty, not to find Clarke in it – Clarke who’s as beautiful as ever despite the cuts and the bruises on her face, Clarke who never fails to take her breath away whenever she sees her.

It takes Lexa a few seconds to stop staring.

“Clarke”, she greets her then, her tone betraying a hint of surprise.

“Hey”, Clarke replies, a bit disconcerted by this unexpected visitor. “What uh, what are you doing here?” she asks curiously.

“I came to get a book.”

“Oh, uh, okay”, Clarke says, confused, as she closes the crime novel she was reading. “Are you looking for the one we used the first time? Because I don’t know where it is. I, uh…”

Lexa shakes her head. “No. It’s in my room; I almost finished it, so I came to pick another one.”

“You— Oh”, Clarke blurts. “Oh. You managed to read it on your own? That’s great!”

“It took a great amount of time and I didn’t grasp the meaning of every word, but yes”, Lexa nods, then licks her dry lips and adds: “Could you help me find another book I might understand?”

Clarke curses herself when her gaze follows the motion of Lexa’s tongue against her will. Swallowing thickly and averting her eyes, she answers “yeah, sure” before getting up and going into a random aisle. She takes deep breaths to keep her body’s reactions in check as she browses through a row of books, trying to find one that could fit.

They’re not sorted at all in this room, so essays in philosophy stand alongside 18th century dictionaries and 21st century novels for kids or teenagers; in consequence, finding something you’re looking for is as random as playing dice. She knows going back to the main room is useless though: all the books that can be found there are way too complicated for Lexa to read – not to mention that most of them don’t even appeal to Clarke herself.

She grabs a thin book with an entirely black cover that intrigues her and opens it to the first page. The title is a calligraphed _‘Carmilla’_ that takes her entirely by surprise, and she leans back against the nearest shelf to take a look at it. She doesn’t get a clear grasp of its content by simply flipping through the pages, but it’s enough to arouse her curiosity, so she keeps it for herself.

Clarke resumes her search with the black book in her hand, and she finds a novel for kids easy enough for Lexa to understand less than five minutes later.

“Here”, she says, handing it to the Commander as she nears the table again. “This one should do.”

She goes back to her seat then, and frowns when Lexa doesn’t move. “You can sit down, you know, I don’t bite”, she jokes. She feels rather light-hearted at the moment, which is probably why the teasing words escape her with no afterthought.

“These chairs are rather uncomfortable”, Lexa remarks. “Why don’t you read in your room instead? Do you like them?”

“Not particularly”, Clarke sighs, “but there’s a vampire named Carmilla sleeping in my bed right now, so…” she trails off and shrugs.

Lexa arches a brow but doesn’t comment on that. Instead, she offers: “There’s a couch in my room, if you’d like.”

When Clarke’s eyes widen a little, Lexa reflects on the words she just uttered. Once she realizes the ambiguity of her suggestion, she clears her throat and clarifies: “A couch to sit on to read.”

“Putting my ass on something else than planks of wood? Oh yeah, I’m _definitely_ up for that”, Clarke accepts immediately, not bothering to hide her relief and not commenting on the involuntarily equivocal offer either.

Lexa’s room or not, she’ll take it if it means she gets a soft, fluffy seat.

“Follow me”, the Commander says as she turns around to leave.

Clarke grabs the book she’s close to finishing as well as the one named Carmilla, and then falls into step with Lexa as they get out of the library.

 

* * *

 

Lexa’s room is about the same size as her own, but much more richly furnished and decorated. The walls are adorned with numerous items, from weapons to tapestries to shelves filled with stacks of paper, and candles light the room in addition to the sun flowing through the windows.

There is an en suite bathroom just like in Clarke’s bedroom, barely visible behind the door left ajar; what differs is the number of closets and of chests of drawers, more numerous in Lexa’s room. The wooden bed – a massive canopy one as well – is huge and pushed against the far wall, while the couch is closer to the center of the room.

There aren’t many personal touches, close to none even, yet it still feels warm and welcoming. The colors, mostly tints of orange and brown and yellow, certainly help create this impression.

“Do you like it?” Lexa asks, the corners of her mouth tugging up into the hint of a smile.

It’s only then that Clarke notices she’s still standing on the threshold, frozen to the spot while she takes in the room.

“Yeah, it’s… impressive”, she nods.

Lexa’s smile broadens a little.

Forcing her feet to move again, Clarke goes to sit down on the couch in silence; meanwhile, Lexa settles on her bed, half-lying on the furs and on the pillows she piles up.

The atmosphere is quiet and devoid of tension between them for once, something Clarke greatly appreciates: it’s easier to breathe in the room that way. The silence is comfortable and in no way awkward as they both start reading, Lexa finishing the book she learnt to read English with – book whose name Clarke can’t remember, and can’t read from where she is either – while Clarke, driven by curiosity, opens the one named ‘ _Carmilla_ ’ instead of keeping reading the crime novel she took with her as well.

It quickly becomes glaringly obvious that the book is, indeed, talking about the Carmilla she knows – just by the descriptions of the main character. Her sass is on point, though much more old-fashioned, and it’s clear Carmilla didn’t quite behave like any of the ‘proper ladies’ of that time.

However, the author has obviously no idea that he’s writing about a vampire, and it makes for some quite funny scenes in which he tries to explain mysterious disparitions or apparitions in any way he can. Spells, invisibility, divine powers – he gives lots of explanations as far-fetched as they get, and Clarke has to bite her lips several times to contain her laughter.

She doesn’t get to be fully absorbed by the book though, because Lexa interrupts her from time to time to enquire about the meaning of a word. At first, Clarke gets up to take a look at the story before answering, but she soon becomes tired of it and makes Lexa spell the word instead. It’s much more efficient this way (… and she gets to stay seated on the couch).

She’s quite sure the Commander doesn’t ask her about every word she’d like to, though, because Lexa looks up to glance at her much more regularly; yet half of the time, she changes her mind before asking her question. Clarke notices it at first, but she starts being oblivious to Lexa’s eyes on her as the Carmilla book – as she calls it in her head – becomes more and more compelling.

Learning about the life people led in the 1850s is certainly interesting, but she thrives for the random anecdotes even more. Some of them are amusing, some less, but they’re all well-written despite the older style that Clarke doesn’t always understand; all in all, she feels like she has discovered a gold mine.

(In the sense that, now, she has loads of stuff to tease Carmilla with whenever the vampire feels like mocking her for one reason or another.)

(Or, to put it differently: sweet revenge is awaiting.)

The writer, who much to her surprise happens to become Carmilla’s boyfriend at some point, doesn’t shy away from putting details in his story. He recounts how they travelled across the entire Europe on horseback or in a carriage, going from city to city and never really stopping in small towns – discovering the world one place at a time.

By the time she’s halfway through the book, Clarke can safely affirm that Carmilla was… unusual for a noblewoman of that time. She clearly had the means and the wealth to live the life of a queen, but she rarely used any more money than strictly necessary. She preferred to spend her time sprawled on a couch with a book than to waltz at the mundane receptions she attended, saving her dances for her boyfriend or her sisters – sisters that Clarke can’t really place, whether they were vampires too or if Carmilla was just still that young back then. There is no mention of her birthdate in the book.

Clarke pauses her reading to contemplate what it must have felt like to go from decades – _centuries_  – of living among various civilizations to being thrown into what was left of the Earth after the nuclear bombs hit. She shudders at the idea of ending up so desperately _alone_ ; and suddenly, it hits her that there is much more to Carmilla than simply an annoying acquaintance who happens to be a vampire.

And that said vampire must have had quite a hard time too in her life.

(She’s still _so_ using the book’s content to annoy her, though.)

As Clarke stretches her neck that is starting to feel sore from staying in the same position, her eyes land on Lexa – Lexa who is even more quiet than usual, Lexa who hasn’t asked her a single question in a while… Lexa who has fallen asleep on her bed.

Clarke tries really hard to ignore that fact, to simply keep reading the way she did a minute before; but despite her best efforts, she just can’t concentrate anymore.

Lexa looks so at peace in the depths of her slumber, her features relaxed and her body slouched against the pillows – so different from the tense posture the Commander always keeps –, that Clarke can’t stop staring. Lexa appears like the twenty-something woman she really is for once, not like some everlasting unbreakable leader who doesn’t know of doubt.

It’s so easy to forget that the Commander of the twelve clans, arguably the most powerful person of at least their side of the world, is barely older than a teenager… So, so easy.

So easy that even Clarke, who has seen more of Lexa than most people ever will, often manages to overlook that fact.

(And if she does, it’s only because of how unwaveringly strong and self-assured the Commander is in every situation.)

(Absolutely not because she doesn’t want to have to consider how similar they might really be.)

The Carmilla book slides from Clarke’s lap and falls onto the couch, but she hardly realizes it. Her gaze is fixed on Lexa’s sleeping form, and a multitude of thoughts and questions swirl in her mind.

How tired must the Commander be to fall asleep while reading, and before it’s even dark outside?

How did she find the time to practice reading during the previous days if she’s that exhausted?

And why did she—

Clarke startles when she becomes all-too-aware of what she’s missed so far.

Not only has Lexa fallen asleep, but she’s felt safe enough to do so while being _alone_ with _Clarke_. Clarke who put a knife to her throat barely more than a week ago.

Once more, it amazes her how much trust Lexa is willing to put in her – even with her own life.

(And, well, yeah, it’s true, she could never murder _her_ , much less in cold blood, but still. _Still_.)

In desperate need of something to do to stop her trail of thoughts, Clarke gets up. She goes to the windows to look outside and opens one of them, hoping the cool air will help her clear her mind…

It doesn’t work.

What she manages to do, though, is to make Lexa shiver in her sleep. The wind is just strong enough to reach the bed, causing goosebumps to appear on the skin of the Commander’s arms, so Clarke closes the window again with a sigh.

She _hates_ that she cares whether Lexa is cold or not. But she does.

So much so that when she notices the Commander is still shivering about a minute afterwards, she goes to cover her with some of the furs; and after a moment of reflection, she also pulls some of the pillows from the pile Lexa is leaning against – she doubts the position is really comfortable in the long run – so that the Commander is lying down rather than slumped against the cushions.

She pretends she doesn’t realize how gentle she’s being the whole time.

(There’s something about the quiet atmosphere of the room that makes it impossible for her to keep telling herself she still hates Lexa.)

(And maybe she never really did. Maybe her anger and her hurt were never about more than the gigantic grudge she holds; maybe it was always only herself she despised after the events of Mount Weather.)

Exhaling slowly through her nose, Clarke sits down carefully on the edge of the bed. She shakes her head when she catches herself gazing at Lexa again but, in this instant, she can’t find it in herself to care. Instead, she directs her will towards resisting tracing the Commander’s features; features she’d like to draw or paint one day, something that has – of course – _only_ to do with how objectively beautiful Lexa is.

Of course.

*

She’s still trying to will herself to move away when Lexa wakes with a start, pushing herself in a sitting position and breathing heavily; her eyes are wide and keep flickering, as if she didn’t know exactly where she was.

Clarke reacts on instinct. “Hey”, she says, grabbing Lexa’s arm without thinking to steady her; she lets go just as fast, though, when she realizes what she’s doing. “ _Hey_ ”, she repeats, louder, to help anchor the Commander to reality with her voice.

Lexa only relaxes when she finally meets Clarke’s gaze and processes where she is, taking in the familiar surroundings of her room from the corner of her eye. It’s not what she focuses on, though: she rather tries to understand why Clarke was _already_ at her side when she woke up, instead of on the couch like when she fell asleep… But since she knows better than to push too hard, she just waits rather than ask a question.

They keep looking at each other for what feels like a small eternity while Clarke analyzes the situation, slowly replaying the scene in her mind; and when she’s done puzzling everything back together, it hits her like a slap in the face.

Lexa has nightmares, just like she does.

The shield the young woman has around her isn’t impenetrable; the decisions and the deaths don’t just bounce on it as if it were made of steel – instead, they seep inside and take residence in her soul just like they do in Clarke’s.

(Of course, it could just be regular nightmares… But somehow, Clarke doubts it.)

(Mainly because of the haunt in Lexa’s eyes.)

The Commander doesn’t bear the burdens of leadership as easily as she wants everyone to believe; on the contrary, she suffers because of the things she does for her people – and nobody knows. Nobody is there to offer to share the pain either, the way Bellamy did with Clarke when she pulled the lever; no, Lexa is utterly _alone_ in her command just like in her life.

Yet the Commander keeps going anyway, with pride and resolve and her head high.

Clarke can’t even fathom how much strength Lexa has in her to be able to set aside her internal struggles the way she does, to pile up decisions after decisions but always pretend she’s immune to the emotional aftermath.

Of course, Clarke already knew Lexa _cared_. It had been glaringly obvious to her almost from the start, from the pain in the Commander’s eyes and from the small shift of the impassive mask on her face when she had run her sword through Gustus, but it’s only after they let the bombs drop on TonDC that Clarke realized how much Lexa was lying when she said she didn’t feel anything. She didn’t grieve just for Costia and Anya and Gustus, but for all of them: every warrior she once sent to a certain death, every person she sacrificed, and maybe even every one of her people who died because she couldn’t protect them – the innocent ones, at least, because she didn’t seem to have much consideration for those who broke the rules. Jus drein jus daun.

In front of Mount Weather, it had been easier for Clarke to paint the Commander as heartless again, at least when it came to the Sky People. She had fooled herself into thinking Lexa was able to rapidly move past the deaths and the betrayals and the decisions, no matter how much they hurt her at the time; she had told herself that only Costia haunted Lexa at the end of the day; she had convinced herself that being able to make decisions solely with her head allowed for Lexa’s bleeding heart to dry faster – something like ‘if it makes sense politically, then the personal pain fades more quickly’.

And, for the longest time, she refused to acknowledge that all of this might not be true.

(Well, a few days ago she _did_ reluctantly admit to herself that the betrayal had probably cost Lexa a lot, but she’s aware of the… particular circumstances of said betrayal.)

(Circumstances, as in, peculiar feelings being involved.)

(She still thought, or made herself believe, that the reasoning didn’t apply to most situations.)

She knows now, though. The nightmares are too much of a familiar presence to her these days for her to ignore what they mean: everything is still there, right under the surface, ready to claw its way into your mind and your heart when you’re the most vulnerable.

No matter how confident Lexa appears, no matter with which feigned ease she does what needs to be done, the young woman _hurts_ profoundly. All the time.

This is a truth Clarke knows she won’t ever be able to ignore or forget about now that she’s uncovered it, even though a great part of her would really prefer to. It is, after all, much easier for her to keep her distances with Lexa when she doesn’t have to acknowledge how many similarities they share and how well they understand each other way beyond words; yet with every day she spends in Polis, she’s drawn to her more and more again.

And she shouldn’t let herself be lulled into this sense of familiarity and mental safety around Lexa. She _really_ shouldn’t.

(Because if her fragile balance had to be crushed all over again, her fall would be that much worse.)

(The kind of worse she doesn’t know how long it would take her to recover from, or if she ever even could.)

But Lexa is _there_ and Lexa _understands_ and Lexa is the reason why she finally, eventually started to heal; in the middle of all the chaos in her head and despite how much she’d rather not admit this, Lexa _makes sense_.

And maybe, Clarke thinks, maybe Lexa is the only one who could have reached through to her because of this – because she knows what leaders have to deal with, because she knows what it’s like to feel shattered inside; because she’s been in her shoes and worse.

The Commander found a way to handle it though, to do her duty unwaveringly in spite of how much it costs her, while Clarke just couldn’t anymore. She wasn’t even at the point where she could imagine a way forward until Lexa lent her a helping hand.

Lexa, who is patiently taking the time to show the way to (a, really, everything but cooperative) Clarke, while being herself just as crushed and haunted by the weight of her past decisions – though she has certainly learnt how not to let everything get to her as much as it does to Clarke. Lexa, who is probably disregarding her own well-being to put her focus on helping someone who’s told her she hates her. Lexa, who—

“Clarke?”

The question makes her snap back to reality and she realizes she’s still staring at Lexa, though she was lost in herself.

“I—” she starts, but she can’t find anything to say. There’s too much of a storm of thoughts and feelings in her mind.

So, by reflex, she does the only thing she can think of: she grabs Lexa’s hand and squeezes it, wishing the touch to convey what she can’t say. (Not at this moment. Not yet.)

_I understand._

_I’m sorry you’re struggling with the same kind of shit than I do._

(… And perhaps also a bit of: _I’m here_.)

The tiniest of gasps escapes Lexa’s mouth when Clarke’s hand wraps around hers, warm and soft, and there is something akin to wonder in her eyes as she drops her gaze to stare at their joined hands – a sight she didn’t think she’d ever be graced with, not after everything that happened. She dared hope for it sometimes, of course, but she always scolded herself to be realistic.

Too stunned to react at first, Lexa only squeezes back after a small delay; and she marvels at how good it feels – though she’s waiting for the catch. She’s waiting to wake up again, because this could only happen in one of her dreams.

But when time stops standing still in her mind, finally resuming its usual course, nothing happens; so she looks back up, searching for a confirmation or even just an explanation.

She gets none.

Instead, Clarke just bails. The intensity of Lexa’s stare is too much for her to handle in her current state of turmoil; she simply can’t face it. She can’t face the questions swirling in the green eyes that look at her with a devouring flame, and she can answer them even less. She doesn’t know how to explain why she suddenly decided to hold Lexa’s hand – especially since she’s not sure she fully knows herself what prompted her to do such a thing –, so she doesn’t try to. Instead, she gets up hastily, her hand slipping from Lexa’s in the process, and hurries to the door.

She’s halfway through when she pauses and draws in a breath, willing herself to turn around and say something instead of leaving so fast it looks like she’s fleeing (and truth be told, she actually is), but she can’t find the strength to. She needs time to process the conclusions she reached before she can talk to the Commander again.

When Clarke slips outside and quietly closes the door behind herself, she leaves in the room an utterly confused yet also flustered Lexa, who’s desperately trying to calm the beating of her heart.

 

* * *

 

Clarke dithers for hours the next day, unsure of what to do. Everything in her screams to simply ignore what happened, but she feels like she owes Lexa quite a bit more than such a cowardly attitude. A few days ago she probably wouldn’t have cared – or at least would’ve been able to convince herself of as much – if she hurt the Commander by staying mute and distant, but now she knows she doesn’t want this to be another reason why Lexa might be wide awake at night.

She knows all-too-well what it’s like to be sleep deprived yet too scared to lie down, for this is the moment when everything you’ve managed to keep at bay all day finally crashes onto you without restraints.

She wouldn’t wish this to anyone, and she certainly does not to the Commander.

The issue, though, is that she has absolutely no idea what to say. She squeezed Lexa’s hand because she couldn’t find any other way to express how wholly she _gets it_ , all of it – the emotional struggles, the nightmares, the hurt –, but she’s far from ready to voice this to the one person that shattered her heart before her soul crumbled to ruins as well.

So what, does she say not to read anything into it instead, that she didn’t mean anything by it? She has a feeling it would be more cruel than to ignore it altogether.

Somehow, when she finds herself in front of Lexa’s door during the afternoon, she’s still in the same state of confusion despite having thought about nothing else so far. Her mind was miles away from reality all morning with the children – the fact that she hardly slept all night didn’t help either –, and she just couldn’t read after lunch. Her eyes kept going over the same sentence once, twice, ten times, but the words refused to make sense. Most of them didn’t even make it inside her brain.

She still stubbornly tried to read for over an hour, though, until she gave in and decided to take a walk instead, but her steps led her to Lexa’s room rather than outside.

The guards ignore her entirely, which means they must have received orders to let her pass, and Clarke struggles to be as oblivious to their presence as they are to hers while she chews on her bottom lip, trying to decide whether to knock or not. She wants to, really, but she’s not sure it would lead to anything more than awkward silence.

She nearly jumps out of her skin when the door opens before she’s even raised her hand – much less produced any sounds to make her presence known –, and she looks like a deer caught in headlights while she tries to think of a way to explain her presence to Lexa – Lexa who’s staring at her with surprise painted on her face.

“Do you wish to come in?” the Commander asks once the silence has stretched for too long to be natural.

“Were you, uh, going somewhere?” Clarke answers, stumbling over her words, when she finally finds her voice again. “I— I wouldn’t want to, you know, keep you from a meeting or something, I, uh…”

“It can wait.”

“Oh. Then yeah. Yeah, sure”, Clarke nods. She has her back to the wall at this point; it’s too late to turn away without worsening things, so she can only hope to find something to say at the last minute.

Lexa closes the door behind her and looks at her with a slight frown while Clarke struggles to find something to do with her hands – hands that feel more like restless foreign entities that parts of her body at this point. A few seconds later, she gives up and figures she’ll be better off if she’s at least not standing awkwardly, so she just goes to sit on the couch and motions for the Commander to join her.

Clarke takes a deep breath once they’re both settled, willing herself to find something coherent to say. Should she explain why she was standing in front of the door of Lexa’s room before she mentions the day before, or—

“When did you become Commander?”

These were not the words she expected to come out of her mouth. Not at all.

It makes sense, though: over the last twenty-four hours or so, she’s kept wondering for how long Lexa has had to handle the kind of stuff she’s been dealing with for only a couple of months. She just… wants to know? needs to know? She’s not really sure herself where her mind is at at the moment.

“It was soon after my sixteen summer”, Lexa replies after a beat, curious as to why Clarke would ask this question.

“When the Commander before you died.”

“Yes.”

“And then you formed the Coalition.”

“What is it you want to know exactly, Clarke?”

Oh. So the fact that she was dancing around what she really meant to ask was _that_ obvious.

“You have nightmares too”, she whispers.

(Again, not what she thought she was going to say, but she fears being surprised of what crosses her lips might become a habit during this conversation.)

Lexa nods once, slowly; deliberately. Some things start to make sense to her once she understands where Clarke’s mind is at.

“But you manage to live with all that.”

It’s more of a plea than a statement, a half-exclamation that fails to hide how desperate Clarke is for an answer that she can make sense of.

“How do you not… How are you not crushed by knowing how many people are dead because of you?” she adds – though she is not well-versed enough in the history of the Grounders to know whether Lexa is responsible for more deaths than her, she realizes. The idea that the name Wanheda might be fitting for her after all drills a hole in her heart. “I just… I just want to make the pain go away”, she admits.

“Killing is never easy, even when it’s necessary”, Lexa answers, her voice soft. “I’d worry more if you felt nothing about the lives you took. But you have to understand you cannot change the past. You can however still help the living, and those are the people you must focus on.”

Clarke doesn’t fail to notice that, even though the words are different, Lexa is still telling her the same thing that she did when they were standing in front of the ashes of the fire that burned Finn’s body: _the dead are gone, the living are hungry_. And Clarke _knows_ that, she’s just trapped by images and feelings that won’t leave her be.

“Does it make the memories go away?” she asks – in a rather bitter tone, since she’s quite sure she already knows the answer.

Lexa shakes her head. “These are something you need to learn to live with.”

“And how do you do _that_?”

A small, sad smile pulls at Lexa’s lips but she doesn’t answer, and that tells Clarke everything she needs to know.

You just do, because you don’t really have a choice.

“Thought so”, Clarke chuckles humorlessly, then sighs and averts her eyes from Lexa’s. “So how did you form the Coalition?”

The question is tentative, for Clarke is not sure she’s ready to hear more about Lexa’s probably troubled past, but she convinces herself that she’s asking it because knowing more about the clans and the Coalition her people might soon join could turn to her advantage. She’s asking just for that reason, and certainly not because she wants to know whether she’s more of a killer than Lexa as of now.

(She hasn’t stopped thinking about this possibility since it crossed her mind about a minute ago. If it turned out to be true, she’s not sure she could bear it.)

At no point does it occur to her that maybe she’s asking simply because she cares about Lexa.

“When Noa died—”

“Noa?”

“The Commander before me”, Lexa clarifies. “He died in battle, trying to defend Trikru’s territory against Azgeda and the Blue Cliff Clan. There were civil wars among the twelve clans at the time, as there often were… When I took command, I had to pick up where he left off and to try to fight as bravely as he did to defend our territory and our harvests. I made some mistakes at first, but after a while I managed to push back efficiently and Trikru held strong for almost a year. There were however numerous casualties on both sides, including among the Boat People warriors that were lending us a hand, and I could see only one way to end this permanently: unify the clans. It wasn’t done easily, far from it, but step by step I managed to convince more and more of them. I started with our allies, then with those who had been neutral towards Trikru for several years, and I tricked the Blue Cliff Clan into joining by making sure they were almost surrounded. It took numerous negotiations and a great deal of time, but eventually all clans accepted to become a part of the Coalition. Azgeda was the last one to recognize my authority.”

Lexa brushes off the last part, but Clarke can fill in the blanks. Nia tried to use Costia to get information when Azgeda was the last independent clan, knowing she could turn the situation to her advantage if she found a way to discredit Lexa to the other leaders; when that didn’t work, she simply killed off the girl. Had the Commander retaliated, Nia could have argued she was stronger and more cold-headed than Lexa, and thus more suited to lead the Coalition.

Clarke doesn’t want to imagine how it must have felt for Lexa to negotiate with Nia after that, instead of getting any form of revenge. Did she even have time to grieve, or did she have to fight the memories and delve back into the political chess games right afterwards? Harden her heart and repeat to herself that love is weakness so she could pretend she didn’t care, didn’t hurt?

Clarke doesn’t ask. She knows there are wounds it’s better never to prod at.

“And now your people might soon join”, Lexa finishes, her voice firm but soft. “If it works out.”

“I hope so”, Clarke replies, and she surprises herself with how much she means it – with how much more faith she has in this idea than when it was first mentioned. It certainly has to do with Lexa’s words but mostly her tone, that told Clarke all about the Commander’s wish to achieve peace.

Truth be told, it probably could have been easy for her to pick up on that earlier, but she always had other things to focus on than the Commander’s motivations in the long run. This time, though, she acutely feels Lexa’s thriving desire for a world without wars and unnecessary killing – a desire she greatly shares. The realization that they really do have ultimately the same goal is reassuring, though the trust issues stay exactly the same for Clarke. Not only has it been established time and again that Lexa is willing to sacrifice some people to ensure the eventual safety of many more if need be, but Clarke is also not foolish enough to believe all negotiations with the other clans were peaceful.

And she has far from forgotten about Mount Weather as well.

Day after day, it gets harder to stay angry at Lexa, though.

(Does she even still feel angry? Or did that truly and permanently fade once she started to imagine herself in Lexa’s shoes?)

(She honestly wonders if having to be the one to take the deal would have wrecked her just as surely as being betrayed did.)

They stay silent for a while, the atmosphere comfortable rather than awkward like it was when Clarke first entered the room. In the end, she doesn’t explain anything about what happened the day before; she has a feeling she doesn’t need to after all – a feeling Lexa reads through her words with the same ease Clarke understands the Commander.

“Where were you going earlier?” she asks instead after a while, curious once she remembers that Lexa was on her way out before they started this discussion.

“Indra sent a messenger. She will arrive tomorrow with your people. I was going to give orders to make sure they are welcomed properly once they arrive.”

“Oh”, Clarke only manages to let out in lieu of a reply.

So Kane and her mother listened to her for once.

They’re coming.

It’s great!

…

It is, really.

She’s simply not sure she’s ready to see them.

But she has to be strong, to be a leader just once more. This is everyone’s chance at a long, lasting peace.

And she took precautions.

It has to work out.

There’s no reason why it wouldn’t.

So why will that nagging feeling at the back of her brain, reminding her that nothing ever seems to go as planned since her feet first touched the Ground, just not go away?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Shof op!” = “Quiet!”  
> “A été dans ton sens” (French) = “Has gone in the direction that you wanted it to” (quite a literal translation)  
> \----------  
> Noteworthy: To you, and to Clarke, we'd like to say you shouldn't trust everything you read!


	6. Part II: White - Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II is here! The tags have been updated in consequence, and we can't tell you for how long we've been wanting to do that... Most of the characters who appear in the fic are now tagged, though something like five of them are still missing.  
> Quick note because it should be pointed out: if you haven't noticed yet or forgotten since the main notes, we have re-worked the characters who were introduced in season 3. Their roles, etc, are not necessarily the same than on the show, mostly because they were tied to storylines that don't exist here. It might be a good thing to keep in mind while reading if you don't want to be confused.  
> And on this note, we're letting you discover how the plot is now (finally) picking up... Enjoy!  
> \----------  
> “Sometimes you have to move on without certain people. If they’re meant to be in your life, they’ll catch up.” - Mandy Hale

Clarke stands tall while she waits for her people to arrive in the throne room. She knows they’ve entered the city a bit less than half an hour ago, escorted by Indra and the few guards that had gone to Camp Jaha as well, which means it won’t be long until the doors open for them.

On the outside, she looks rock solid, ready to greet her people; but on the inside, her mind is restless and her resolve shaky. If she could, she’d get out of there in a second – she just doesn’t feel ready.

Granted, she probably never would be, but the point still stands. She doesn’t want to be in this room right now. She wants to be in the library, like she got used to in the past few days, and to escape the reality she lives in through a good book.

She’s there, though, because she knows it’s either that, or her mother will ask to see her before she agrees to do anything else – so they might as well get it over with as quickly as possible.

Clarke takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, exhaling through her nose, before schooling her attitude and her features again, modelling her behavior on the Commander’s calm and patient one. For the moment, the wait is killing her more surely than anything else; yet she’s still there, and half of the reason why is because she somehow draws strength from Lexa, who’s standing right next to her as if she knew what was going on in her mind and offered her comfort in any way she could.

The truth is, Lexa probably _does_ know, but that fact doesn’t annoy or bother Clarke like it once would have; instead, she’s just glad and relieved that, right now, someone understands what she’s going through without needing any kind of explanation. It means she’s not doing this catching-up session alone, and that’s really what she needs the most at the moment.

When the doors finally open and Indra marches into the throne room, Clarke decides to clasp her hands behind her back – she’s not entirely sure they’re not shaking, and she’d rather her trouble doesn’t show.

As expected, Abby practically runs inside right on Indra’s heels, and only the sternest look that Clarke can muster makes her halt in the middle of the room behind Indra as she’s supposed to rather than come hug her daughter directly.

“Heda.” Indra nods respectfully to salute the Commander while Abby ignores Lexa entirely, her eyes focused solely on Clarke. She hopes to get something out of it, an explanation for a three-month-long disappearance without any news at all, but her daughter has already stopped looking at her and is watching the rest of the Arkers get through the door instead.

Kane is the third person to enter, which doesn’t surprise Clarke one bit, then comes Raven as she hoped, and then… her eyes widen as she watches Octavia and Bellamy bring up the rear. Those two are entirely unexpected, and the way they look at her makes her want to disappear into thin air.

She tries as hard as she can to ignore their glares as she clears her throat, focuses on Abby and says: “Thank you for coming.” Her voice doesn’t wobble, which she considers a small achievement in itself.

“Clarke”, her mother answers, with obvious relief seeping into her voice. “Are you alright?”

The question almost causes a hollow laugh to escape Clarke’s lips because of how ridiculous it feels to her, but the truth is something that would help no one at the moment, so she makes her best attempt at a reassuring smile instead. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

She wonders at first if her lie is just _that_ obvious when Abby looks unconvinced and eyes her up and down again with suspicion, but a few seconds later she understands. The attire she wears is rather form-fitting and fails to hide the weight she lost; besides, she doubts the remaining cuts and bruises on her face appear any different than the ones that still cover her body and are currently hidden by her clothes.

Her Grounder-made clothes.

That don’t exactly look like the Arkers’ ones.

Oh, and she also wears tight braids just like Octavia does, because one of the children from the orphanage has made it her duty to weave Clarke’s golden hair into more intricate patterns each time, and has done so again and again during the last few days.

Clarke becomes very self-conscious once she realizes how she presents exactly, and suddenly all their eyes on her make her uncomfortable – not just Bellamy’s and Octavia’s. It’s as if they were trying to assess how much of the person in front of them is still the Clarke they know, and how much is an entirely different person that they should be wary of.

(She should see the bright side: at least they don’t look at her as if she were a hero, like she feared they still would.)

(Though, on second thought, she’s not so sure that would have been the hardest to handle anymore…)

She becomes even tenser than she already was when the silence becomes too heavy, and she realizes she’s starting to lose some of her self-control when she catches herself shifting slightly in discomfort. It’s probably not enough for her mother or her friends to notice from where they stand, but she’s almost certain it hasn’t escaped Lexa’s attention because the Commander’s ringing voice suddenly fills the air, putting an end to the awkward moment – much to Clarke’s relief.

“Welcome to Polis”, Lexa greets the Arkers. “We have much to discuss during the following days, but I believe you would rather enjoy some rest before we delve into these matters, so I will have Titus show you to your rooms. I wish you a pleasant stay and will see you this afternoon.”

“Follow me, please”, Titus echoes, suddenly appearing on Clarke’s right. The sound of his voice almost makes her jump – she had completely forgotten that he was standing in a corner behind them.

“Thank you for your hospitality”, Kane tells the Commander before he leaves, bowing to her and getting a courteous nod in return. “It is an honor to discover your Capital.”

“I will have someone show you around tonight if you wish”, Lexa answers, “or you can also visit it by yourself if you prefer it that way.”

“Thank you”, Kane repeats with a smile then follows Titus, Bellamy, Octavia and Raven who have already gotten out of the room without a word.

Abby doesn’t move, though. She’s pinning Clarke with her stare and merely arches a brow, totally disregarding the fact that everyone else is leaving, as she asks: “A word, please? _In private?_ ”

Clarke holds back a sigh. She knew this was coming, she knew it the moment she gave that letter for Indra to carry to Camp Jaha, but it doesn’t mean she’s ready for it in any way. She’d only be delaying the inevitable if she refused to speak to her mother for the time being, though, so she musters up her courage and gives a positive answer to Abby’s question. “Okay. We’ll just go to—” She sighs frankly this time when she remembers that _no_ , actually they _can’t_ just go to her room, because she’d _really_ prefer not to have to explain why there’s a freaking vampire-slash-master-of-sass sleeping _in her bed_. She has enough to deal with so far as it is.

“Take the library”, Lexa offers as an easy solution. “I’ll give orders to make sure you won’t be bothered.”

“Thanks”, Clarke mumbles under her breath, grateful, as she glances at Lexa then focuses back on her mom, to whom she says: “Come on. I’ll show you the way.”

She doesn’t wait for a reply that doesn’t come anyway and makes her way over to the door, Abby falling into step behind her without a word.

They get out of the room in a tense silence.

 

* * *

 

Abby stops dead in her tracks when she takes in the sight of the library – which is, by all means, impressive for anyone who’s never seen it; Clarke remembers well enough her own reaction a week ago –, but she still doesn’t utter a word. It’s not surprising in any way; it’s nothing more than the calm before the storm, and Clarke braces herself for the accusations she knows are about to be thrown her way.

Her mother still has her back to her when she finally lets out “three months, Clarke”, in a tone that is everything but soft. Abby’s voice is neither controlled nor cold, it’s rather shaking with the force of all the raw emotions it betrays: relief, incomprehension, endless worry, and maybe even a tinge of anger. She’s had time to cool off since she first saw Clarke in the throne room, and what she wants at the moment isn’t a hug or any other form of reassurance that her daughter is still alive – it’s an explanation. “Three months without any news, three months without even knowing if you were still alive or dead in a lake somewhere, and when I finally hear from you it’s through a letter delivered by _Indra_ , telling me that you’re in _Polis_ with _Lexa_?!”

“I’m sorry, mom”, Clarke whispers, because there’s nothing else she could say at this point.

“What on Earth were you thinking?!” Abby interrogates, raising her voice and turning around to face her daughter. There are tears in her eyes, and it takes all of her will not to let them spill.

Clarke bites the inside of her cheeks, overwhelmed by feelings and memories that had been tamed by the past few days but are coming back to her in full force now. This is it. This is exactly why she feared her people’s arrival. She’s going to have to justify herself, to talk about things that are better left buried. She doesn’t want to. She wishes they’d just let it go, let it slide into the past where it belongs, but she knows this won’t happen. She shakes her head when she feels tears start to prick her own eyes, refusing to break down once again. “I couldn’t stay.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye, Clarke! I had to hear from _Bellamy_ that you turned around at the gates to go God knows where, and that’s all I’ve known for _three damn months_! I thought you’d come back, at first, so I told myself not to worry, but days flew by and I—” Abby pauses and takes a deep breath, angrily wiping away a tear that managed to escape after all. “Kane and I sent scouts. Bellamy told us not to at first, that you needed time, but after two or three weeks he joined the teams. I think he was starting to worry that something terrible had happened to you too. You could have been agonizing somewhere for all we knew! We—”

The overflow of emotions prevents Abby from continuing to yell at Clarke. Incapable of holding back some sobs that begin to escape her, she just keeps looking at her daughter, who’s staring back at her with pained eyes.

Clarke swallows over the lump in her throat but doesn’t say anything, waiting for Abby to finish getting everything off her chest. She understands how much she hurt her mother, and maybe in a way she deserves this, but she also knows she wouldn’t change the choice she made even if she could go back in time and stand in front of the gates again. She needed to be alone, to be responsible for no one but herself for once since the dropship landed, yet she doesn’t know how to explain that. She doesn’t know how to talk about the emptiness inside of her or how to make Abby see the situation through her eyes, so she just takes the verbal outburst without trying to justify herself. Nothing would be satisfying anyway, especially given that she _did_ see some of the scouts – scouts that she avoided and hid from. She didn’t want to be brought back to Camp Jaha by force.

Abby waits until she’s regained a bit of her composure to speak again. “Have you been here this whole time?” she asks, trying to understand what Clarke did during the past three months exactly.

“No.”

“Then where were you?!”

“In the forest”, Clarke admits.

“ _By yourself?!_ ”

“Yes.”

“You— Clarke— That’s—” Abby blurts out with wide eyes.

“I’m fine, mom.”

“You don’t _look_ fine to me!”

Since she doesn’t know what to answer to that without telling any more reassuring lies, Clarke just shrugs and averts her eyes.

Abby stares at her in silence for a good long while before resuming: “Why are you here? And I want the truth. You were a bit too conveniently vague about that in your otherwise quite detailed letter.”

“It’s a bit of a long story”, Clarke sighs. She decides to say half-lies despite her mother’s order – mainly because she doesn’t want to have to explain how she went from wanting to kill Lexa to agreeing about the plan to make Skaikru the thirteenth clan in mere days, but also because she doesn’t feel like explaining Carmilla’s existence at the moment. “To make it short, the Ice Queen tried to have me captured, but Lexa sent someone to help me and I followed him back to Polis where I’d be safe. I’ve stayed here ever since – it’s been a week and a half, maybe?”

“Do you trust her?”

The question takes Clarke by surprise, but she answers easily: “Would I have asked for Raven’s help if I did?”

Abby scoffs. “The only thing it tells me is that you’re smart enough to take precautions in that crazy plan of yours!”

Clarke raises an eyebrow. “You disapprove of it”, she states more than she questions.

“Of course I do!” Abby replies, throwing her hands up in the air. “I haven’t forgotten anything about what happened the last few times you tried to work with Lexa – I was in TonDC only minutes before the two of you let the bombs burn it down, remember? And I know about the deal she made at Mount Weather. There’s _no way_ another alliance with the Grounders ends up well and, to be quite honest, I’m worried about the influence the Commander has on you. It seems to me like you’ve let your judgment get clouded quite a bit!”

“It’s not like we planned any of it”, Clarke shoots right back. “We did the best we could with what we knew and what little time we had to decide!”

(Is she just talking about TonDC or is she talking about Mount Weather too? Is she justifying her own decisions only or is she extending this to Lexa’s ones as well – including the betrayal? Why is it that she gets defensive when other people do exactly the same thing than her: criticize and blame Lexa?)

(She’s not sure she really wants to know the answers to these questions, though. Especially the last one.)

(So she ignores them.)

“Why are you here if you think becoming the thirteenth clan is a bad idea?” Clarke asks, frowning, before the conversation can take a turn that she’ll really, _really_ dislike – it’s already hard enough for her so far, she’d rather not have to expand on truly unwanted subjects.

“I’m here _because I wanted to see you_ ”, Abby replies through her teeth. “ _Kane_ is here to discuss politics – unfortunately, he disagrees with me regarding the content of your letter, and given that I had the really idiotic idea of telling him to keep the pin permanently about a month ago…”

Clarke blinks in surprise. “You’re not the Chancellor anymore?”

“No. I wanted to go back to being a full-time doctor since, at the time, it looked like there wasn’t any need for me to reason with people with bad ideas anymore”, Abby grumbles.

Clarke doesn’t waste any time or energy trying to persuade her mother that her plan is sound once she’s been made aware of that fact. Since Abby won’t have a say in the final decision, there’s no point in debating uselessly; Clarke decides she’d rather save her arguments for Kane, if it turns out he needs some convincing.

“So what are Bellamy and Octavia doing here?” she asks instead, curious.

Abby doesn’t comment on the change of topic, but she narrows her eyes at Clarke nonetheless. “Bellamy is here because Raven is here, and probably also in part because he, too, wanted to see with his own eyes that you’re okay. As for Octavia, I’d say all the reasons why she came are quite obvious: seeing Polis, making sure nothing happens to Bellamy, and asking for the kill order on Lincoln to be lifted.”

“The kill order? What? Which kill order?” Clarke questions, confused.

“He disobeyed a direct order when he came back to _help us_ at Mount Weather, so the poor man has been banned from Grounder territory ever since. He can’t set foot there again for the time being, unless he suddenly has a death wish. He barely dares get out of the gates because of that!”

“Oh”, Clarke lets out. “I didn’t know about that, or I would have asked Lexa to lift it already!”

“You did miss quite a lot in the past three months, yes”, her mother retorts, glaring.

“I’m sorry”, Clarke says again, not quite knowing how else to react or reply. With a sigh, she then adds: “Do you want to look around the library or do you prefer to go to your bedroom until the negotiations start?”

“I think I’d rather be in my room right now”, Abby answers. “I suppose you can show me where it is, since you seem to know your way around here quite well…?”

“Yeah, I’ll take you there”, Clarke confirms, deliberately choosing not to acknowledge any of the things that her mother’s question implies.

She starts to turn around to leave the library but, before she has time to take a single step, she feels her wrist being pulled back and she soon ends up engulfed in her mother’s arms.

“I’m just really glad you’re okay”, Abby whispers in her ear, getting teary-eyed again despite her attempts not to cry in relief.

Unable to reply to that when all she feels is very not okay, Clarke simply gulps and doesn’t even try to come up with any verbal response. She knows her mother desperately needs some physical form of reassurance, though, so she awkwardly returns the hug for a moment; when the embrace ends up lasting much longer than she expected, she tries her best not to squirm or let her discomfort show in any way.

“Be careful, alright?” Abby whispers with obvious concern in her voice when she finally lets her daughter go.

“I will”, Clarke nods, mustering up a small smile and hoping it’ll alleviate the lie – but they both know all too well that it’s a promise she can’t really afford to make, and that she’ll break it in a heartbeat if she has to.

They’ll just try to pretend otherwise for as long as they can.

 

* * *

 

“They’re sleeping together”, Octavia affirms.

“What? Who?” Raven asks, confused, as she settles on the bed to remove her brace. It’s starting to hurt her quite a lot after the three-day-long journey to Polis – though she spent most of said journey on a walking horse instead of on foot –, so she’d rather take it off when she can.

“Clarke and Lexa. I’m telling you: they’re sleeping together.”

Raven snorts then laughs frankly. “Yeah, right, sure! And I built a car with my eyes closed!”

“What’s the link?” Octavia frowns.

“Well, since you seem to think we’ve moved into a parallel universe where everything is possible…” Raven elaborates, her tone sassy.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “I’m not entirely convinced you couldn’t build a car blindfolded, and I’m serious. Have you seen how close to Lexa Clarke was standing in this room?”

Truth be told, no, Raven didn’t notice. She was too busy shooting imaginary daggers at the Commander with her eyes to pay much attention to Clarke. “Not really”, she answers with a shrug.

“I should’ve known”, Octavia mutters. “Should’ve guessed. I just— How can she— I mean, after what happened at Mount Weather, how can she _even_ — I don’t understand.”

“I’m telling you, you’re reading too much into things – or rather seeing things that aren’t there”, Raven replies. “Now stop pacing and get your ass here instead. You’re starting to make my head spin.”

“Fine”, Octavia grumbles, crashing on the gigantic bed on the side opposite Raven’s – they decided to share a room, despite the fact that there was one ready for each of the Arkers.

*

_“I’m borrowing your girlfriend for the nights of our stay, Bell”, Octavia winks to her brother before pulling Raven into her room. He rolls his eyes at her but doesn’t say anything and just keeps walking behind Titus, who’s leading him into the next room. He’s starting to get used to this: every time his sister and his girlfriend decide to have some ‘girls only’ conversations or moments, the only thing he can do is step aside and let them have their fun without him. Raven was already hanging out with Octavia long before he started dating her anyway, so it’s only fair that he’d be the one to make concessions. And even though he feels sorry for himself at times, he’s happy Octavia has finally found a real friend, so he doesn’t really mind in the end._

_Indeed, the two young women grew much closer once they had to worry about something else than making bombs or going to war, which didn’t really surprise him: they were similar enough to get along well. It ended up being more than just ‘well’, though; a week or two after the events of Mount Whether, Raven and Octavia were already spending time together regularly, and soon afterwards, it wasn’t unusual for them to chat in each other’s rooms until ungodly hours – sometimes, it was even late to the point that one of them decided to sleep over rather than go back to her own room._

_(Which, talking about sleeping… They actually became so close that some of their friends believe they dated at some point, after Octavia had a bad fight with_ _Lincoln_ _that separated them for a few weeks and before Raven and Bellamy got together.)_

_(They’ve both always refused to comment on those rumors, though; truth be told, they even seem to have_ tons _of fun cultivating that mystery.)_

_(Nobody has managed to find out the truth so far, and both Lincoln and Bellamy have long since made their peace with the fact that they might never know the real answer.)_

*

“I know Clarke does pretty dumb stuff sometimes”, Raven says, “but screwing Lexa is one notch too high if you ask me. Even for her.”

“You weren’t there before we went to war”, Octavia sighs. “The way they acted around each other, and the way Lexa looks at Clarke… You’d have to be blind not to see it. I had other things in mind at the moment, but after—” She stops, biting her tongue like every time she comes too close to mentioning what happened in TonDC. It’s a topic they tacitly agreed not to talk about, among a few others: they’re trying to leave the destruction of the past behind them, so they can avoid awakening painful memories if they don’t have to.

(Well, that reason, and the fact that they don’t necessarily see fully eye to eye on what should have been done once Bellamy discovered the Mountain Men decided to fire a missile.)

(Raven doesn’t exactly care much about Grounders.)

“Anyway, I’m telling you”, Octavia finishes, “I’m ready to bet there’s something going on between those two.”

“Ready to bet, really?” Raven asks, raising her eyebrows. There’s a playful gleam in her eyes, one Octavia knows well.

“Really”, she confirms with a smirk.

She didn’t plan this, but the occasion is too great to pass it up.

“How much?” Raven pushes.

“The loser pays the winner three glasses of Monty’s moonshine when we’re back in Arkadia.”

“Five glasses.”

“Deal.”

Raven grins. “You’re going to lose anyway.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that”, Octavia shoots back.

They both don’t mention how joking about Clarke’s sex life and placing bets on it is actually mainly about channeling their dislike of Lexa into something a bit more productive.

In other words, it’s first and foremost a way to be able to stand the Commander’s presence.

Otherwise, well… They can’t guarantee what would happen.

It’d probably not be a good thing in any case, though.

 

* * *

 

“So you’re coming after all?” Clarke frowns to her mother when the elevator stops to let Abby in, a few floors under the one where the throne room and her own room are. She and Lexa decided to set the negotiations in the library, where they would have a huge table and multiple chairs at their disposal – not to mention no chilly wind coming through a crumbled wall –, so most of the people invited to attend the discussions are currently on their way down.

“I want to make sure none of you make rash decisions in my absence”, Abby explains with an annoyed sigh as the elevator starts moving again. “Aren’t there any stairs in this tower? I doubt the reliability of this thing.”

“Unfortunately no, the stairs are either crumbled or threatening to be”, Clarke grumbles. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but there’s currently no other choice.”

Abby raises an eyebrow. “And you know that how?”

“I asked Lexa recently”, Clarke admits, not looking her mother in the eye.

“I figured.” The elevator stops again, this time at the floor dedicated to the library, cutting Abby short. “This conversation isn’t over”, she warns as they get back on steady ground.

Clarke nods without looking at her and addresses Titus instead, who’s waiting at the door to guide the Arkers inside of the library. “I know the way, you don’t need to accompany us.”

“As you wish, Wanheda”, he answers coldly before the guards let Abby and her through the door.

Clarke cringes at the word but she doesn’t let it show, because she’s quite certain Titus used the nickname on purpose. No need to be a genius to understand that the advisor disagrees with the Commander’s plan to make Skaikru the thirteenth clan – he made his opinion quite obvious during the past few days, for one thing –, and he’s been aloof with Clarke ever since he learnt about it.

She didn’t waste time explaining to him that it was far from her idea to begin with. She had other fish to fry and no interest in the guy whatsoever.

“Wanheda?” Abby enquires while Clarke leads her to the room where Lexa and whoever has already arrived are waiting for them.

“That’s how the Grounders nickname me”, Clarke mutters in response – this is not the topic she most wants to expand on.

Of course though, Abby doesn’t give her the luxury of letting it go that easily. “Hmm. And it means?”

Clarke debates whether to actually answer or to pretend she didn’t hear for a moment, but she knows her mother well enough to be almost certain Abby won’t stop asking until she gets a real response.

“The Commander of Death”, Clarke thus translates with a sigh, trying not to show how much that nickname affects her, as she opens the door that leads to the room where she usually spends her afternoons reading.

Lexa and Roan are already there, sitting in silence while they wait for everyone to arrive; his presence doesn’t exactly surprise Clarke, given the role that he’ll play during the ceremony. He’ll have to double-cross the Ice Queen to make sure the Sky People can enter the Coalition, so it seems normal he gets to know exactly where he stands. The only one missing is Kane since Titus is simply waiting at the door, which means they’ll be able to begin soon.

Clarke really wishes she could just not be there, but at the same time, she knows she has to. She’s the one who called for this to happen even if it was Lexa’s idea, and she also doesn’t trust anyone with the negotiations – it’s really that simple.

Fortunately, Kane arrives only a minute or two afterwards, so the discussions indeed start quickly. The last one to sit down is Titus, being ordered to do so after uselessly whispering “Commander, I must urge you to reconsider” in Lexa’s ear.

The matter at hand is brought up after a first exchange of courtesies, and the conversation really turns serious once Kane brings up the delicate question: “What are you asking for in return for your generous offer of letting us join your Coalition, Commander?”

Lexa is quick to answer. “My people are concerned about their safety. The Mountain Men have been defeated, but we both know you have the technological knowledge to take their place should you decide to. This is a risk I cannot afford. If Skaikru becomes the thirteenth clan, I need to be sure we will never face the threat of the Mountain again.”

“You don’t want us to have access to Mount Weather”, Kane guesses.

“Indeed”, Lexa nods. “And I want the place to be watched by my people to make sure the promise is kept.”

“You can’t ask that from us!” Abby intervenes. “There’s an enormous amount of medical supplies in Mount Weather, as well as facilities much better than those we have in what’s left of the Ark. They could save countless lives in the future!”

“I do understand your concern”, Lexa replies calmly, “but many more lives could be lost if I let Skaikru access the Mountain without taking precautions.”

“You’re not taking precautions, you’re _banning_ us!”

“Mom—” Clarke starts, ready to remind her that she’s not the Chancellor anymore and that Kane should be the one leading the discussions, but she gets cut off by the sound of the door being kicked open.

“Didn’t any of you ever learn that libraries are supposed to be quiet?!” Carmilla huffs in exasperation then looks around. “For a post-apocalyptic world, there sure are _still_ a lot of people…” she grumbles. “Who are you now?”

“This is not the time, Carmilla”, Lexa warns through gritted teeth.

Clarke holds back a sigh. There are guards at the main door of the library, but _of course_ guards are useless when it comes to Carmilla, and _of course_ it’s around the time the vampire usually comes to settle in the library for the night. They should have seen this coming.

“Well hello to you too, Captain Grump”, Carmilla retorts. “I see Clarke’s bad manners are starting to rub off on you.”

“And who are _you_?” Abby cuts in, frowning, while Kane just keeps looking between Lexa and Carmilla, clearly wondering what is happening.

“Mom, don’t”, Clarke says in a low voice.

“Oooh”, Carmilla almost sing-songs, a smirk appearing on her face, “so she’s the one I have to blame for your cleaning concerns and your manners worthy of those of cavemen?”

Clarke mentally notes never to refer to her mother as such in public ever again. She fears Carmilla will have a field day, or even week, with this piece of information.

“Watch your mouth!” Abby exclaims, entering the protective mom mode – precisely what Clarke wishes she wouldn’t have done. Answering to Carmilla’s provocations only ever makes her smirk grow wider and her remarks double down in irony.

Which is, of course, exactly what happens.

“Awww, mommy to the rescue, how cute!”

Clarke grabs Abby’s arm to get her attention and whispers: “Let it go. Just… Let it go. Trust my experience, you don’t want to go there.”

Lexa takes this opportunity to put the focus back where it belongs. “Could you leave us? This is an official meeting”, she almost hisses in annoyance and frustration. In this instant, she really wishes attempting to kill Carmilla wouldn’t lead to more humiliation; truth be told, she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to having her authority undermined without being able to do anything about it.

“I could”, Carmilla replies.

But then she takes one of the remaining seats instead.

“Can’t you go read in your corner as usual?” Clarke sighs. She just wonders why Carmilla is even still in Polis, since the vampire’s main occupation is basically making her life impossible whenever she can instead of, oh, _leaving_ like she said she would at first… If the library is the main reason for that, she swears, she’s ready to burn it down herself at this point.

“Unfortunately, my corner is too close to your mouths for that. See, I like things _quiet_ ”, Carmilla complains.

“Then why don’t you go read in Clarke’s room for once?” the Commander suggests, wanting nothing more than for Carmilla to get out of there.

It takes Clarke looking daggers at her for Lexa to realize that maybe, just maybe, she shouldn’t have said that in front of Abby. Carmilla biting her lips in amusement is just a confirmation of the fact.

“Why in Clarke’s room specifically?” Abby enquires slowly.

“Oh. I sleep there!” Carmilla answers cheerfully with a shrug. “The bed is so comfy, right, sweetie?”

“She sleeps there _during the day_ and we are _not_ having this conversation right now”, Clarke elaborates through gritted teeth when she sees her mother open her mouth again.

Roan clears his throat. “I believe we were in the middle of a negotiation?” he points out, though he is inwardly fighting a smile.

“Yes indeed”, Kane replies. “And weren’t there any guards at the door to make sure we wouldn’t get interrupted?” he frowns, having finally found the loophole that was bothering him about this whole situation.

Carmilla looks at him condescendingly. “Like these giant broomsticks could stop _me_ ”, she scoffs.

“Who are you really?” Kane asks, his frown deepening.

“It’s a long story”, Clarke answers before any more digressions can be started by this question. She has a hard enough time dealing with the subject they’re supposed to discuss, she doesn’t want to have to handle any more embarrassment in addition to that. “Carmilla, are you going to leave or not?” she sighs, though she kind of knows the answer already. There’s Abby in the room, which is all the vampire needs to bug Clarke, really.

“Don’t you know the answer already?” Carmilla replies, smirking, and for a moment Clarke wonders if reading minds is another one of the vampire’s powers that she doesn’t know about yet.

“We are discussing politics”, Lexa notes. “Something you do not enjoy much.”

“You’d let her stay?” Kane questions, frowning.

“Yes”, Lexa answers with a glare, daring him to defy her decisions (though it’s not a decision as much as an ‘I don’t really have a choice’ issue – something she definitely won’t let show).

“Then let’s go back to the point at hand”, Abby cuts in. “It would be a grave error not to let us use Mount Weather’s medical equipment. I’ve seen it, it’s top-notch. We could set up a hospital there.”

The idea makes Clarke nauseous. She can’t unsee the Grounders hung upside down, their blood flowing through tubes and into the main room of the medical facility to heal the people that got irradiated. She can’t deny that her mother is right, though: it would make for a great hospital. She’d just… She’d rather not think about it, or ever have to go there if Abby manages to make her proposal a reality.

“Again, I understand”, Lexa replies. “And we may even expand on your idea further in the future – the Reapers are still to be turned back too after all. But if the Mountain were to be used in such a way, then its defenses would have to be fully disabled first. Those are my terms.”

“I doubt my people will agree to that”, Kane counters. “It would leave us vulnerable to an attack. Nobody has forgotten the view of your army at our gates, Commander.”

“And _my_ people have not forgotten about the decades we spent fearing the fog and the missiles. Leaving us vulnerable to the Mountain’s weapons again in the future is a foolishness I will not accept”, Lexa guarantees.

“Not to mention Nia is searching for a way to access the Mountain”, Roan notes. “If she succeeds in gaining control of it at some point in the future, no matter when, then you will regret leaving its weapons ready for use as much as we will”, he adds, speaking to Kane this time.

His intervention causes Clarke to turn to look at him; caught in the discussions about the thirteenth clan, she had almost forgotten that Azgeda is the main reason why these negotiations are happening in the first place.

The Ice Queen is trying to seize power, right. And she wants to use Mount Weather to help with that, which is why Clarke almost got abducted in the woods. Right. Which is also why the plan to make Skaikru the thirteenth plan has to be successful… Or else they could soon face a very real problem named Nia. _Right_.

Just another piece of information to remember in these negotiations – negotiations that are threatening to give Clarke a headache.

(Now that she’s been snapped back to reality, she also wonders what Titus is even doing here. Seated next to Roan, the guy is dead silent and clearly doesn’t intend to say a word if he’s not specifically asked to give his input at some point.)

“Would she know how to use Mount Weather’s technological weapons?” Kane frowns.

“No”, Roan answers. “None of us would. But can you guarantee no one from Skaikru could ever be tricked into helping her? She’s really good at manipulation, and she would only need one person who wants revenge.”

“I’m not even sure she would need that much”, Lexa starts to add, but Carmilla cuts her off.

“She’d need half a person? Seems quite complicated to me”, the vampire says sarcastically.

“If I agree to let Skaikru access the Mountain’s weapons”, the Commander continues, ignoring Carmilla entirely, “I doubt I will convince all the clans to participate in the ceremony – even with Roan’s help. And when Nia learns about this plan, it will be too late. Best case scenario, the status quo stays until she figures out her next move – and she soon will, believe me –; worst case scenario, she accuses me of being weak and bowing before Skaikru. One way or another, this eventually leads to new conflicts and bloodshed.”

Kane is silent for a moment before asking for confirmation. “So it’s either we agree to disarm Mount Weather, or we can’t enter the Coalition and we’re at risk of war?”

“Yes”, Lexa simply answers with a nod.

“Marcus, you can’t _seriously_ be considering this?!” Abby exclaims. “They have an _army_ , we’ll be defenseless if they attack! In case you forgot, we don’t have unlimited ammunition!”

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “You do realize that, if you want negotiations to be successful, you’d have to actually _ne-go-ti-ate_? I mean, it’s in the word, I don’t get how you could have missed that…” she sighs. “I swear, hu— you people—” she sighs again, over-dramatically this time, and turns to Clarke instead of finishing her thought. “I must say, everything’s not entirely your fault. You’ve been raised by a child, it’s only logical you turned out the way you did.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Clarke grumbles, hoping her annoyed answer will be enough to appease Abby, who almost has smoke coming out of her nostrils at this point.

“You can’t even appreciate it when I say a half-nice thing to you”, Carmilla replies, falsely offended. “We’re definitely talking about this tonight in _our_ room”, she adds with a suggestive wink as she gets up and leaves, tired of politics and of a conversation that unfortunately lost all of its fun when people started, well, started being basic and stupid humans again.

“Oh finally”, Clarke mutters once Carmilla is out of the room and the door is closed behind her. “Mom, becoming the thirteenth clan is our chance to stop just surviving and to really start a life down here. We can’t let that opportunity pass us by. Now since you wanted to be a doctor full-time again, could you handle the medical side of it only and let Kane be the Chancellor?” she huffs.

“Not if he makes me regret giving him that pin!”

“Kane?” Clarke asks, turning to him and deciding to stick with her resolution to just ignore her mother’s interventions from now on.

“I’m going to have to think about it, since you didn’t mention the condition about Mount Weather in your letter…” He turns to look at Lexa. “Commander, could I give you my answer and my own terms later?”

“If we start the negotiations again tomorrow after lunch, would the delay be enough for you?”

“Yes. Thank you.” He nods respectfully.

(The difference of diplomacy between Abby and Kane is painfully obvious and, in this instant, Clarke is honestly glad her mother is not the Chancellor anymore.)

(Not that she’d say that out loud.)

“It is settled then”, Lexa says, signalling the meeting to be over with her words. “I will see all of you tomorrow. Abby, Kane, do you need Titus to guide you back to your rooms?”

Clarke doesn’t wait to hear the answer. She slips out of the library as fast as she can, hoping it will be enough to avoid another confrontation with her mother – and it should, since Abby doesn’t know where Clarke’s room is.

She needs some time alone, to gather her strength before she faces the next day.

She doesn’t feel any more ready than she did in the morning, but at least she survived the day. And without breaking down.

If she dared, she’d say that’s worth being called progress.

 

* * *

 

Since Raven and Octavia don’t seem intent on moving until the next day, Bellamy decides to discover Polis alone. Though he’s been in his room for a few hours only, he’s already feeling restless: inaction doesn’t sit well with him and, given that he hasn’t been invited to the negotiations that are currently under way, he has nothing to do but wait for a decision to be made.

Which makes tourism look like an interesting occupation all of a sudden, even if he couldn’t care less about the Grounder Capital.

He ignores all the pairs of eyes that follow him as he walks, their looks half-curious and half-mistrustful, and just strides along the streets without really watching what is happening around him. He needs to clear his head more than anything else, and a good walk certainly helps with that.

The first thing he felt when he got the confirmation that Clarke was indeed alive and (mostly) fine was relief, but it quickly got replaced by incomprehension and anger. Seeing her next to Lexa after the events of Mount Weather was close to a betrayal to him, and he even regretted coming for a while. He scolded himself though – he is in Polis for his girlfriend first and foremost, not for Clarke.

Raven and he had started dating only two or three weeks ago; their relationship was still fresh, and he didn’t want to screw it up. He was still figuring out when to be there for her and when to just leave her alone, but letting her go to Polis with only Abby and Kane was something he couldn’t do in any case. As for convincing her to stay in Arkadia with him rather than take the trip, her glare when he had tried to bring up the idea had been more than enough of an answer. He had been expecting it anyway: Raven was known for not trusting anyone with any and all things she built.

So here he is, feeling like a sitting duck in Polis and having nothing to do but look at the ceiling or walk amidst a crowd of Grounders that he considers to be enemies – each and every one of them. Yeah, he’s been in more enjoyable situations in his life.

And in much worse too, since his life isn’t supposed to be in any kind of immediate danger at the moment, but still. He itches for something to do.

“Bellamy?”

The sound of his name makes him snap out of his thoughts and he realizes he has no idea where he is exactly. Fortunately, the tower is immense enough for him to know how to make his way back easily.

Frowning, he turns around and scans the crowd to find who called after him; it’s not a voice he knows well enough to recognize. “Echo?” he asks when he spots her a few yards away.

“What are you doing here?”

He smiles, happy to find a face he knows in this otherwise hostile city. “I could ask you the same thing”, he teases.

“You are Skaikru”, Echo remarks as she reaches him; they start walking again, falling into step. “ _Your_ presence here is surprising, unlike mine.”

“You have a point”, Bellamy concedes. “I’m here for the negotiations. Well, no, Abby and Kane are here for the negotiations, I just… came along.”

“The negotiations?” Echo repeats, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“Yeah, to make us a thirteenth clan or something”, Bellamy grumbles. “We arrived this morning.”

“How far away is your camp?”

“It’s been a three-day walk”, Bellamy sighs, not really caring that it sounds like he’s whining – he feels like complaining anyway. “But enough about me. How are you? You certainly look in better shape than the last time I saw you”, he jokes tentatively.

“I healed fast”, Echo retorts dryly. “I am not weak.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “I never said you were. I’m sorry if I offended you, I just meant… Mount Weather took its toll on people, you know?” When Echo narrows her eyes at him, he quickly adds: “Okay, I’m going to stop talking now, I think I keep making this worse. Is it okay if I say you look like a fierce warrior though?” He doesn’t understand the Grounders’ logic, but he doesn’t want his first conversation with Echo after Mount Weather to end on a bad note, so he tries a compliment that he hopes she will appreciate.

“Yes”, she nods sharply. “I will see you around, enjoy your stay.”

She disappears into the crowd before he can answer, weaving between people so fast that Bellamy loses sight of her in seconds.

Well, shit.

He did offend her enough to make her leave after all.

He hopes she’s at least not the type to hold grudges: he’d hate for them to be on bad terms because of something that stupid. He likes her, and she’s about the only friend he has in Polis.

(Clarke doesn’t count. She’s not the person he currently wants to spend time with the most – at least not before they have a serious discussion about her three-month-long disappearance.)

He keeps wandering through the streets a bit more once Echo is gone, but he has lost his interest in the walk, so he makes his way back to the tower half-heartedly, hoping it’s at least late enough for dinner to be served. He barely touched the food that was waiting for him when Titus showed him to his room, wary of poison or drugs, but he’s starting to regret it – he’s starving.

And Octavia and Raven seemed fine enough when he dropped by their room to ask them if they wanted to join him, despite the empty tray on the table.

He just hopes none of them are making a mistake by trusting the Grounders with their food from now on.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke arrives at the orphanage the next day, not as many children as usual rush to greet her. None of the sonkeryon are there, which she knows is because they had a class early that day, but several others are missing too – the oldest ones, mostly.

She wonders if it has anything to do with her people’s arrival the previous day.

“Weron laik Maya?” she asks, trying to hide her concern, before she gets pulled into one room or another by some of the children like it usually happens every morning.

The red-haired girl, about thirteen years old, is among those who haven’t missed a single occasion to see Clarke so far. She’s the one with a passion for braids – she wants to make it her job – and gleefully found in the regular visitor a willing experimental subject. The first few days, other children had fun toying with Clarke’s blonde locks too – though with varying degrees of success –, but Maya swatted them away gently yet authoritatively at some point and became the only one to braid Clarke’s hair.

“She is up”, a little boy whose name she can’t recall at the moment tells her. “Come see?”

“Sha, ai ste mafta yu op”, Clarke nods, guessing that by ‘up’ he meant ‘upstairs’.

The kids and she agreed early on that she’d speak Trigedasleng to them to the best of her abilities, and that in return they’d address her in English – except for the younger ones who don’t even know the basics of it, of course. That way, everyone would make progress in their non-native language… and Clarke wouldn’t get entirely lost five seconds after walking through the doors. She told them the first reason only (… even though it wasn’t her main motivation…), arguing that being forced to speak a foreign language is the best way to become more at ease with it, and the results proved her right. She still has huge vocabulary issues, of course – miracles don’t happen in less than two weeks –, but a lot of words come to her naturally now instead of having to think them through one by one. Since it’s the same for the children, their exchanges are quickly becoming more and more fluid.

Grammar is still a pain in the ass for both them and her, though.

She follows the little boy and some other kids upstairs indeed, then along corridors that are starting to be familiar to her, and finally into a room whose door hasn’t survived the assaults of time. Apparently, nobody bothered to change it, which probably has to do with the fact that it’s a sitting room and not a bedroom.

Maya is chatting excitedly – and way too fast for Clarke to understand a thing – with another girl, and only stops when she spots the group making their way over to her.

“Clarke”, she says, her eyes growing wide. “I am sorry. I did not see time!”

“Em ste ku”, Clarke shrugs, relieved that Maya simply got caught up talking to her friend and that nothing serious happened to her. “Chon laik yu lukot?” she asks, then smiles to said friend who’s looking at her with her mouth hanging open. It’s a girl Clarke has never seen before.

“She is Sandra”, Maya answers. “She is in Polis next three days. I have not see her since several months.”

“Oh! Yu don stot granplei au?” Clarke asks Sandra directly.

The girl looks between Maya and her but doesn’t answer, clearly confused as to which language she’s supposed to use. And also probably wondering why Clarke is speaking Trigedasleng to begin with.

“No”, Maya decides to answer in Sandra’s stead. “She see thirteen summers like me.” She hesitates, aware that she’ll have to break the tacit rule surrounding Clarke to explain things properly, but finally decides to keep speaking anyway. “She leaved here because her mom was save from maun. From the, uh, Mauntain?” she tries to repeat in English when she notices that she slipped back into Trigedasleng by habit. “She was here two months and we become friends. I did not see her since she go back to village.”

Clarke freezes. This is not what she expected – not at all. The children never talk about Mount Weather to her or in front of her; it’s something that probably stems from what Lexa said to the class of kids when she showed the school to Clarke, and the word spread afterwards. The Mountain is in the past, and is not to be spoken about again.

In this case though, it would have indeed been complicated for Maya to explain the situation otherwise.

“Uh”, Clarke breathes out, trying not to let her discomfort show too much, “noda, uh, noda yongon hir?” She wants to know why most of the oldest children weren’t here to greet her, but her brain is slowed down, almost numb, and she doesn’t manage to utter a proper sentence.

It’s also certainly why the implications of what Maya said hit her with a delay of several seconds.

Sandra is not in the orphanage anymore because the deal Lexa made with the Mountain Men saved her mom’s life.

If the latter had fought from the inside like they had planned, maybe she would have been killed in the process. Maybe Sandra would have really been an orphan after all.

The people trapped in the cages were not just Grounders – they were mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, they were someone’s child. Clarke had never really given it much thought, too angry at Lexa to fully realize or process that those she saved from Mount Weather with the deal she made were people who had loved ones who wanted them back more than anything else in the world. People whose loved ones thought to be lost forever.

Yet their Commander brought them back.

The last remaining shreds of Clarke’s feud with Lexa regarding the events of Mount Weather fade away in the wake of her realization, somewhere in the middle of the mess of her thoughts. She’s not even fully aware of it, but somehow she just knows you can’t resent someone for reuniting a child with a parent she thought she’d never see again – even if it wasn’t the primary motive. Head over heart, right?

But wasn’t choosing between fighting and making sure to save all the imprisoned Grounders a matter of heart too? The part of the Commander’s heart that doesn’t just belong to her people, but also can’t help but feel for them?

Is it always easy to distinguish between head and heart, the way Lexa says it is?

Clarke forces her trail of thoughts to stop there – to stop before she gets lost and drowns in it – and focuses on Maya’s answer instead.

“There are several child like Sandra in Polis now. Their parents, uh, here for sell things? They come from Sandra’s village and Sandra and others asked to accompany. So they could visit us here. Others are in other rooms.”

“And only the older ones came so they wouldn’t slow everyone down”, Clarke deduces. “That’s why I was greeted by mostly young kids this morning. You’re all catching up with your friends, aren’t you?”

Maya frowns and Clarke realizes she spoke English, but she doesn’t even try to translate her sentences. She doesn’t know half of the Trigedasleng vocabulary she would need anyway.

“Yes”, Maya answers after a few seconds of hesitation – the time necessary to analyze something in a language you know enough of to understand the words, but that you’re not used to hear. She looks at Sandra then back at Clarke and, a bit embarrassed, goes on to say: “We, uh…” She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to.

“It’s okay”, Clarke replies in English again with a smile – there are still too many things swirling in her mind for her to be able to speak Trigedasleng at the moment. “Stay with your friend. I’ll go play with the kids.”

She gets up, nods at Maya then at Sandra, and turns around to get out of the room. She knows where to find the children who brought her here and left her with the two girls but, unlike what she just said, she’s not entirely sure she wants to go see them. She has too much to think about.

The one thing that she realizes when the scene replays in her head, while her steps indeed absent-mindedly lead her out of the orphanage and back to the tower, is that hearing about Mount Weather unexpectedly didn’t hurt her quite as much as she thought it would. To be absolutely honest, having to sit through the negotiations the day before was also easier than what she had braced herself for.

Of course, the memories are still there, lurking inside of her mind, but they’re somehow deeper under the surface now. Her nightmares haven’t stopped, far from it, but during the day it’s undeniably better. She’s able to let the good and bright memories that she’s been making during the last week overlay the dark ones of the past, and it makes it easier to start to accept what happened. Everything that happened.

She knows she’ll need time to come to terms with what she did. It’s not just the lever she pulled, but every other event from the past few months: the _other_ lever she pulled, the Grounder whose throat she slit in cold blood, her mercy killing of Finn – everything. She’s had to put higher and higher walls around her heart in such a short period of time to protect herself after they landed on Earth; and now, she knows she has to lower them down so she can process it all.

So she can mourn, too: Wells, Finn, even Anya, all those she couldn’t save, and her dad whose death she still doesn’t accept. It’s finally catching up to her instead of devouring her from the inside; she’s _letting_ everything catch up to her because, for once, she has time to grieve.

And because she’s finally past the stages of denial and anger. Because she’s able to move forward slowly, instead of trying to freeze time like she did during her three months in the woods.

She knows she has Polis to thank for that – Lexa, really, to thank for that. It’s Lexa who helped her, showed her the way when she arrived, but then the atmosphere of the city took over. Not being constantly surrounded by walls of metal, no one expecting anything from her, having time to relax… Sure, the Grounders’ eyes on her, curious or grateful or still mistrustful in some cases, bothered her too at first, but she got used to them and they got used to seeing her around. Most of the time, she finally gets to feel like she’s just _Clarke_ when she wanders through the streets of Polis, and not _Wanheda_. More importantly, here, no one expects her to be anyone’s leader.

That’s when the truth hits her.

She wants to stay in Polis after the ceremony. She’s not going back with the others.

(And it has nothing to do with Lexa at all – only with the city.)

( _Absolutely. Nothing._ Of course.)

She wants to stay at least until she can safely say she’s okay again, until the memories become a part of her instead of haunting her.

For the first time, she feels confident that this will happen at some point – that she won’t feel broken during the rest of her life. If the Sky People become the thirteenth clan, that is, because if they go to war… It’ll be another story entirely. But the plan will work. It _has_ to work. And then everything will be settled, and she’ll keep being able to have time for herself.

At least, she tries very hard to convince herself of as much.

Because she really doesn’t know what she’ll do otherwise.

 

* * *

 

Abby and Kane shouldn’t have left Arkadia unattended.

Lincoln was certain of it before they even crossed the gates to go to Polis, but the feeling has grown exponentially since then. They’ve only been gone for four days and are expected to come back in less than a week, but things have deteriorated a lot in such a short period of time.

It’s this guy’s fault – Pike. He was a teacher on the Ark, if Lincoln understood correctly, and he arrived in Arkadia about a month ago with around fifteen other people. They come from another station that crashed on the Ground in the South of Azgeda’s territory, and from about a hundred survivors, their number quickly decreased as warriors executed them one by one. Given where they landed, this is everything but surprising: the Ice Queen is not known for liking strangers very much.

The small group was found in the woods during an expedition originally meant to search for Clarke, about a two-day walk away from Arkadia. Pike and the others had decided to flee their camp in hopes of finding somewhere else to settle in, once they had understood they would all be killed eventually if they stayed.

They had all laid low at first. They were weak because they were starving and exhausted from sleep deprivation, so they had taken a few well-needed days to start to heal. After that, their integration hadn’t been a problem. Pike and the others were quickly assigned new roles, and they went to work the way everyone else did. You never would’ve known they hadn’t landed with the others.

But Lincoln does. He knows because of the way they look at him. No one from Skaikru is very welcoming with him, far from it, but they don’t have so much _hatred_ in their eyes either. The ones who landed here know that he came back to help them at Mount Weather, defying his own people for that. They don’t necessarily care much about it, they certainly don’t trust him, but at least they leave him alone. Some are even friendly; and though it’s mostly the ones he already knew – the young people who came down first –, a few others went out of their way to chat with him too. That’s how he was offered a job as a guard about two weeks after the Mountain Men were killed – a job he enthusiastically accepted, before his joy was cut short by Octavia’s reaction.

He tried to explain that this was his chance to be accepted by her people, she yelled back that they weren’t her people – that she had been imprisoned by them, and that he was betraying her by accepting to be a guard. He retorted that he couldn’t exactly go anywhere at the moment so he’d do his part for Skaikru, she left without another word and refused to talk to him for days. It took Bellamy explaining how much Octavia had feared the guards as a child, when she was living hidden under a trapdoor in the floor, for Lincoln to understand the intensity of her reaction: the guards had always been the monsters in Octavia’s nightmares, and those nightmares had eventually turned into reality when she got arrested and her mother got floated.

After Bellamy’s intervention, it took Octavia and Lincoln over a month to work it out and to find their way back together; it certainly helped that he resigned from his job as a guard and started working in the medical bay with Abby instead, telling her about medicinal plants and roots that can be found nearby. He would prefer to show them to her directly, of course, but the kill order on his head makes this impossible, so he’s condemned to sit inside and to wait for expeditions to bring back things that look like what he described – things that sometimes turn out to be what he was talking about… But that are, most of the time, just a painful reminder of how much Skaikru don’t know anything about the forest or the lake or _anything else_ , really.

For the time being though, given that Abby isn’t here, he works with her assistant – Jackson – instead. And, during his spare time, he also keeps a close eye on Pike and his maneuvers since the peace delegation left for Polis with Indra. Kane had the really bad idea of telling Pike to keep an eye out while they were gone – apparently, they were close on the Ark or something, and Kane foolishly trusts him with the camp –, so now the guy is subtly working his way towards seizing power. It’s nothing too overt; it’s rather insidious, the way he manipulates what people think. So their beliefs will align with his.

To Lincoln, Pike’s beliefs are clear and obvious every time their eyes meet: if you’re not from the Ark, you’re the enemy. It doesn’t matter what clan you belong to, if you’re Trikru and not Azgeda; in all cases, you’re the enemy. He doesn’t care to see further than where you were born – in other words, if you come from the Ground or the Sky.

And slowly but surely, Lincoln knows Pike manages to make more and more people agree with this black and white vision. He knows because he feels it, he senses the change of atmosphere around him.

Granted, the only thing Pike has to do is to revive a flame in people’s minds. Nobody has forgotten about the army that almost attacked, and that later became their allies but abandoned them at Mount Weather when the Commander betrayed Skaikru. Knowing Abby and Kane left for negotiations hasn’t helped one bit – quite the contrary, actually. People are worrying about their leaders falling into a trap.

So when Lincoln sees the three Azgeda warriors at the gates of Arkadia, he knows there is no way this ends well.

It’s Pike who goes outside to speak to them. Nobody hears a thing of what they’re talking about.

The warriors don’t move when Pike crosses back the gates, as if they were waiting for something.

The something arrives in the form of a wave of bullets that doesn’t give them any chance. The three Azgeda warriors are killed on the spot, dead before they even touch the ground. On the other hand, their horses are kept alive and recovered, then parked inside the fence. It’s a smart move, since mounts can always be useful, and that’s what worries Lincoln the most. Pike is intelligent, though blinded by his hate for the people of the clans. Which makes him dangerous.

Very dangerous.

Lincoln watches from afar when Pike starts his speech, merely an hour after the execution – there’s no other way to put it – of the warriors, and what he hears makes his blood freeze in his veins. The situation is worse than he had envisioned.

Pike wants to take the lands around Arkadia from Trikru by force. And if he does, Lincoln knows this is bound to lead to another conflict, if not a war. It’s a fact Pike is apparently aware of too, if Lincoln reads between the lines of his speech, but he doesn’t seem to care about it very much. He trusts the guns and the number of Skaikru people in Arkadia.

Of course he does. He’s never seen the Commander’s army.

It doesn’t seem to matter, though. Pike talks well. He’s charismatic. A lot of people will believe what he’s saying, no matter how unrealistic it is.

Because they don’t fully _realize_ how unrealistic it is.

And because they’re sheeps.

Lincoln doesn’t try to intervene, for he knows nobody would listen to him anyway. He doesn’t try to explain the politics of the clans; he doesn’t try to explain that these warriors are Azgeda and not Trikru; he doesn’t try to explain that their presence here has nothing to do with the peace delegation that left – or rather, that Lexa asked for a peace delegation _because_ of the threat posed by the Ice Queen. He doesn’t try to explain that no, whatever alliance the warriors proposed to Pike does not come from the Commander and that no, no one is trying to double-cross Abby and Kane. He just doesn’t try, for he simply knows he’d be talking to a wall at this point.

(Come to think about it, Lincoln is not even sure the people gathered here would understand what he means. If Abby and Kane publicly mentioned what they were going to negotiate in Polis exactly, Lincoln doesn’t remember hearing that speech.)

If _he_ knows what’s going on, it’s because Kane asked for his opinion after Indra brought Clarke’s letter. He told them the truth: that if they think the Commander is worth being called a savage or a monster, then the Ice Queen is a living devil. There’s no other way to put it. And they’d be fools to even think about trusting her, because she’s as sly as a fox and as sneaky as a snake. Clarke’s plan is a much smarter option.

So a few days later, they left: Kane because he’s the Chancellor, Abby because she wanted to see with her own eyes that her daughter is safe. They took Raven with them since the stubborn young woman wouldn’t take no for an answer – more exactly, she had leverage and didn’t exactly give them a choice –; Bellamy followed his girlfriend, and Octavia tagged along because she was hell-bent on using this occasion to make the Commander lift the kill order on Lincoln’s head. Arkadia was left without guidance, though Pike has Kane’s blessing to make decisions if it’s really necessary, and the situation is slowly but surely turning into a catastrophe.

Upon hearing the ovation that follows Pike’s speech, Lincoln decides he has to act. He can’t just wait for Abby and Kane to come back who-knows-when, and to try to take back control of the situation when it could already be too late. In four days, Pike apparently managed to plant the seeds of distrust and fear of strangers into much more heads than Lincoln had anticipated, so if even just half of them sprout and blossom in the near future, then Skaikru will face one hell of a situation. If that’s not already the case, that is.

Abby and Kane are needed back as soon as possible.

Which means someone will have to go get them – and unfortunately, it cannot be him.

Lincoln turns around and disappears into the depths of the Ark. He knows who he’s searching for, and finding him won’t be hard: the teenage boy barely leaves the workshop these days. Convincing him will be another issue entirely, though.

 

* * *

 

“No.”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if I had another choice”, Lincoln assures, “but I can’t go myself and there’s no one else I trust with this.”

“No”, Monty repeats. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go either. I can’t leave Jasper here alone. Not in the state he’s in”, he elaborates, glancing at the guy passed out on a couch a few feet away.

“Then take him with you.”

“He’s so drunk all the time he can barely walk!”

“He won’t need to walk if you take the horses.”

Monty frowns. “What horses?”

“The Azgeda warriors had mounts”, Lincoln elaborates. “Three of them.”

“That neither Jasper nor I know how to ride”, Monty points out.

“It won’t be an issue if you don’t trot or gallop.”

“I’m not going into the woods on a three-day trip with someone who’s only half-conscious while praying we don’t fall off horses who could throw us down effortlessly!”

“I’ll go.”

Lincoln turns around to face Miller, standing in a corner where he was almost invisible until now. Come to think about it, his presence here is absolutely not surprising – he wasn’t outside during Pike’s speech, and he’s known to spend most of his spare time with Monty lately –, but Lincoln would have preferred if no one else heard. The fault is entirely on him, though, since in his haste he forgot to scan the room properly before speaking. Anyway, what is done is done. And since he might have just found a volunteer, he’s not about to complain – especially since said volunteer looks as earnest as it gets.

“What? No, you’re not going to Polis alone!” Monty retorts before Lincoln has time to open his mouth to discuss the specifics of the trip with Miller.

“I became a guard because I want to protect Arkadia; this includes the threats coming from the inside. I’m tired of wars and of seeing people die, but Pike’s ideas promise to bring exactly that again. I won’t let it happen if I can do something about it. I’ll go.”

“You don’t even know _where_ to go!”

Lincoln cuts in the discussion before it starts to turn into a sterile debate. “I can draw him a map.”

“And so what if he gets lost?!”

“Polis is easy to find if you take the long way by the ocean. The trip will last maybe four days instead of three, but it’s the safest way to get there. I don’t see how he could get lost.”

“Guys! I’m right here, so how about you talk to me directly?!” Miller exclaims.

“Sorry”, Monty mumbles. “It’s just… It’s not safe.”

“Then come with me if you’re so worried”, Miller shrugs.

“But—”

“We’ll take Jasper too. A bit of fresh air would do him good, if you ask me, and having something to do will hopefully shake him out of his current apathetic state.”

“Do you realize how many things could go wrong?!”

“I’m willing to take the risk. Lincoln is right, Abby and Kane need to get back before the situation degenerates even more. I’m going. The only question at this point is: are you staying or are you coming?”

“And what if they’re already on their way back?” Monty asks. “We could be doing all of this for nothing!”

“It’s possible”, Miller dismisses with a shrug. “But since we can’t know that, it doesn’t change anything. So?”

Monty frowns. “I’m not letting you leave alone.”

“Good, that’s settled. So now we just need to find a good reason to take the horses without looking suspicious. If Pike discovers what we’re really up to, we could be forced to stay, not to mention we’d probably get in trouble…”

“I have an idea about that”, Lincoln intervenes. “You don’t know how to ride, that’s true, but no one from Skaikru does. That means you can easily pretend, say you learned the basics before they arrived – they wouldn’t be able to tell. They have no idea what riding really looks like. And the horses will need exercise; they’re trained for war and action, they’ll break everything if they stay parked here for too long.”

“Yeah, you’re right”, Miller nods. “It won’t be too hard to make Pike entrust the horses to us. But how do we justify a week long trip? That looks suspicious for sure!”

“Not if we use the situation to our advantage”, Lincoln counters. “Pike is wary of everyone who isn’t from the Ark, which I’m sure includes every Trikru person in the surrounding villages. He probably wonders if he has to expect an attack.”

“I see where you’re going with that, but I think I have a better idea”, Miller replies. “If we really knew how to ride, checking on the villages to see if they’re preparing for an attack wouldn’t take us more than two or three days, even if we went as far as the ruins of TonDC. We wouldn’t need to stay away for a full week.”

“And your suggestion is?”

“We tell Pike we’re going to Polis.”

“I’m not following”, Monty comments, his frown mirroring Lincoln’s.

“We don’t lie about our destination, but only about _why_ we’re going there! We offer to be his eyes and ears in Polis – his spies, if you prefer –, supposedly because we’re as worried as him after what happened earlier. And we’re taking Jasper with us because we hope the change of scenery will help him. We tell Pike that we’ll come back if we notice anything even remotely suspicious about the Grounders. With this explanation, we’ll have all the time we need to find Abby and Kane.”

“It makes sense”, Monty admits. “I still think this is a bad idea, but if I can’t talk you out of it, then okay. We’re going”, he acquiesces with a sigh. “Lincoln, can you draw us that map? And fast, since I suppose we should leave as soon as possible?”

“Indeed, you should”, Lincoln recommends. “If you wait too long before you go, you will have to spend one more night than strictly necessary in the forest, and I doubt this would be a good idea – especially since you are taking Jasper with you. Now, if you want to be efficient, one of you should search for Pike and ask him to let you go to Polis while the other one starts packing. I can’t help you in any way, except maybe to saddle the horses – you’ll just have to pretend you never did it on your own before and you need me to show you how to do it properly –, otherwise it might jeopardize your spy story. Pike cannot know I’m involved, or he won’t trust you.”

“Yeah”, Miller concurs, “I understand. Don’t worry, we’ll be okay.”

Since nobody has anything to add and despite Monty’s unconvinced expression, the three guys agree to consider the conversation to be over. They get into their respective tasks immediately: Lincoln grabs a pen and a sheet of paper to draw the map while Monty starts to search for a compass built by Raven some time ago; as for Miller, he gets out of the room to find Pike and try to convince him that they _really_ want to be his spies.

They have a long trip to prepare for, and no time to waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Weron laik Maya?” = “Where is Maya?”  
> “Sha, ai ste mafta yu op.” = “Yes, I’m following you.”  
> “Em ste ku. Chon laik yu lukot?” = “It’s okay. Who’s your friend?”  
> “Yu don stot granplei au?” = You started your training?”  
> “Noda yongon hir?” = “Other children here?” [“Are any other children here?”]


	7. Part II: White - Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This note is mainly from the self-named 'co-author/beta', who asked me to tell y'all, and I quote: "I told her that saying we would be updating faster was a mistake. SHE JINXED IT." (Which... True.) To my defense, life keeps getting in the way, and we'll keep our head start for (the very long upcoming) part IV if we don't post chapters faster than we finish writing new ones... Anyway, you get a nearly 18k-long one this time, so, forgive us?  
> Also, trigger warning for blood in this chapter.  
> \----------  
> “If you find a path with no obstacles, it probably doesn't lead anywhere.” - Frank A. Clark

“If we become the thirteenth clan and someone attacks us, what will happen exactly?” Kane asks as soon as they start the negotiations again. There are some more details he wants to know before he gives his definitive answer.

Lexa frowns. “Define ‘someone’?”

“Another clan.”

“If a clan attacked Skaikru, then I’d call upon the armies of every other clan to fight them off. Once the threat is contained, the leaders responsible for the breach of the peace would be arrested and judged according to our laws – as it is already the case for the twelve clans forming the current Coalition. Note that if Skaikru were the ones to start a conflict, I would react the same way without hesitation. No act of war is tolerated under my rule.”

“So we would have _exactly_ the same rights and duties as the other clans?”

“Yes. You would stay the leader of Skaikru, your clan would keep its own set of rules, you’d have access to our trade system, and you’d be protected from any kind of attack. Moreover, we could teach each other useful skills. We certainly have knowledge that you do not, and conversely. Entering the Coalition is, quite basically, accepting an obligation of peace. Nothing more.”

“Except for—” Abby tries to intervene, but Lexa doesn’t give her any chance to continue.

“I believe disarming the Mountain – a place that puts us all in jeopardy – falls under the ‘obligation of peace’ I just mentioned, wouldn’t you agree?”

“But—”

“ _Mom_ ”, Clarke groans.

“Abby”, Kane says at the exact same time, putting his hand on Abby’s arm to cut her off. “She’s right. We need to stop thinking about this as if it was them against us. We won’t need Mount Weather’s weapons once we’re the thirteenth clan, because there’ll be nothing we’ll need to defend ourselves against anymore.”

“Oh, really? And what if she gets killed and her Coalition implodes?” Abby retorts.

This time, it’s Clarke who has to put her hand on Lexa’s arm to silently ask her not to answer to her mother’s provocation; it’d only make the situation escalate. The Commander is stiff and her teeth are gritted, and Clarke can tell she itches to reach for her knife so as to make the situation clear – _she_ ’s in command, and Abby would do good not to defy her too overtly.

“Mom, stop”, Clarke orders. “A lot of things _could_ happen in the future, but none of us can predict it. What we _do_ know is that we’re _currently_ facing a _very real_ threat from Azgeda, so let’s focus on that. Unless you want Roan to explain again what would happen to all of us if Nia seized power?” she enquires, raising an eyebrow; when Abby doesn’t answer, she resumes: “No? Good. Then stop with your useless interventions and let Kane do his job!”

Her mother gapes at her with wide eyes, surprised by Clarke’s harsh tone, but she stops talking all the same. When Kane speaks again, she scowls and leans back in her chair with her arms crossed.

“I’ll agree to the deactivation of Mount Weather’s defenses if you give Abby free rein to transform the place into a hospital. She’s right about the potential of their medical facility. I do have to tell you, though, that not many of our people have enough knowledge to hack into Mount Weather’s command center and shut down its system completely. One of them is Raven, who came here with us, and the others are still at our camp. We’ll have to see about who goes there and when.”

Confused, Lexa frowns. She doesn’t have the slightest idea what ‘hack into’ or ‘command center’ or ‘shut down its system’ mean, so she just focuses on the ‘completely’ to try to understand Kane’s point. “I’m assuming what you said means the _whole_ Mountain will be impossible to use. Doesn’t that include the healing center?”

“Actually, you’re right, it does”, Kane realizes. “The hospital will need electricity at the very least, which means the computer system will have to stay accessible. Only the connection to the weapons will have to be severed, and I don’t know if it’s possible to isolate and destroy only some of the command files without compromising other vital ones. I’m really not an expert in computers.”

“I am not sure I understand what you mean”, Lexa admits this time, completely lost. Not only does she, again, not know half of the vocabulary Kane used, but she’s also never seen a computer in her life and has no idea how it works. “Do the missiles have a link to the healing center? Why would destroying them possibly jeopardize it?”

“Destroying the missiles entirely? I thought you only wanted to make them impossible to launch and guide”, Kane admits.

“No. When I said I want the Mountain’s defenses to be disabled, I meant that I want the missiles and any other major weapon that might still be in there to be destroyed. Any possible use of them in the future is a risk that I cannot accept. Again, those are my terms. As for yours, if you agree to mine, I will grant Abby immediate access to the Mountain’s healing center, but she’ll be under some of my people’s watch until the missiles are taken care of. Would that be alright with you?”

“Abby?” Kane enquires, turning to his left to face the woman in question – who simply nods in response, her mouth still tightly shut. “Then I agree to your terms”, he continues once he’s done pondering the Commander’s conditions. “You will still need one of our mechanic’s or engineer’s help, though, because I doubt you know how to handle the missile’s explosives – and you’d risk blowing up the whole place. I recommend Raven, but we’ll have to see if she agrees to go. I’ll ask her.”

Lexa nods. “Then our main issue is settled. Now, about the lands that will go to Skaikru…”

The negotiations continue for several hours, going into specifics that make Clarke switch off quite fast. She expected to have to intervene regularly to defuse the situation because of one argument or another but everything goes surprisingly smoothly between Kane and Lexa, so she’s able to stay almost mute during the entire afternoon. Abby and Roan speak only minimally; as for Titus, his ghost-like presence is as useless as the previous day.

They talk about the extent of the part of Trikru’s land that will become Skaikru’s, which is an area without any villages or farming so far, and about the timeline of disarming Mount Weather. It is decided that if Raven agrees to go back there, she, Abby and a dozen guards will leave Polis a day or two after the ceremony; that way, the destruction of the missiles will be done as soon as possible.

At some point, Lexa details her role as the Commander of the clans, which can pretty much be summarized by ‘management of the relations between the clans’ – she doesn’t interfere in their internal politics unless it’s an absolute necessity –, because Kane asks if they will have to respect some of her laws once they enter the Coalition. She stresses that her rule only applies to the conflicts between people from different clans… and to Trikru, since she’s still the leader of her own clan after all.

One of the last subjects they tackle is the trade system of the Coalition, whose functioning Lexa details before they briefly outline the setting up of a place where Skaikru and the other clans could share each other’s knowledge. Just like the rest, it’s something that Clarke only half-hears: she’s quite lost in her thoughts, and she only snaps back to the present when Lexa describes what will happen during the ceremony.

“All clan leaders or representatives, including you, Kane, will pledge to respect the rules of the new Coalition after I list the terms of your joining. Every person in the room will then bow to me, hence recognizing me as their Heda. Later on, you, Kane, will receive the mark of your clan to officialize your status as Skaikru’s leader.”

“A mark?”

“Yes. A tattoo with the symbol of your clan… I suppose you will have to choose one.”

“Alright”, Kane nods. “So when will the ceremony take place?”

“As soon as possible, which is in two days – the time necessary to prepare for it.”

“Two days?” Clarke chimes in. “I know how far some clans are, there’s no way their leaders will arrive here on such short notice!”

“They are already on their way, and some even arrived as early as yesterday”, Lexa replies, smirking slightly. “I sent for them as soon as you were done writing your letter. I asked them to come but I didn’t say why, simply that it was important. If I had waited until Skaikru arrived in Polis to send emissaries, that could have played in Nia’s favor: she could have gotten wind of what was happening. Besides, there are some clan leaders I don’t trust not to inform her of our plan if they knew about it. I will present them with the fait accompli when I officially announce the ceremony tomorrow; it’ll be too late for them to find a way out. The only two leaders I think will be missing are the Plains Riders King and the Glowing Forest Chief: they’re too far away to arrive in the space of a week and a half. Their ambassadors will have to make the decision in their stead.”

“If the ambassadors have that much power, why did you send for the leaders?” Kane frowns.

“Because it will be much harder for Nia to question the legitimacy of the ceremony later on if the leaders themselves are present rather than their ambassadors. As for Azgeda, Roan will pretend to have been sent by his mother as a substitute, which will overrule the current ambassador that lives in Polis. Speaking of which, you will have to choose an ambassador for Skaikru as well.”

“Me”, Clarke declares, loud and clear, before Kane can reply. She’s been thinking about it since, this morning, she came to the conclusion that she wants to stay in Polis, and becoming Skaikru’s ambassador feels like the best solution to her. It means that she gets to stay, and also that no one else will have to take this responsibility. It’s not that she particularly wants to stay involved in decisions and politics – far from it, actually –, but she also knows there’s absolutely no one she trusts enough for this job. No one that would actually envision to live in Polis, anyway.

“WHAT?!” Abby exclaims, half-jumping out of her chair and knocking her knees against the table in the process. “Clarke, you can’t possibly— No. You can’t!”

It’s not her mother’s reaction that Clarke notices the most, though. It’s Lexa’s.

It’s how Lexa tenses up in surprise.

It’s how Lexa turns to look at her with eyes that are slightly wider than usual.

It’s how Lexa searches her gaze to find confirmation of the words she just heard.

Clarke was expecting it.

And even though she doesn’t want to give her any false hope, doesn’t want Lexa to be mistaken about the reasons why she wants to stay in Polis, she still makes eye contact and answers the unspoken question in the form of the tiniest nod.

No, this is not a decision she made on a whim.

Yes, she’s thought it through.

She wants to become Skaikru’s ambassador.

Only then does she turn to Abby and say: “Yes, mom, I can, and I will. I’m staying here.”

“But— Why—”

“Not now”, Clarke sighs. “My whereabouts are not exactly the matter at hand.”

“We are almost done, Clarke”, Lexa remarks, her voice not betraying any trace of the emotions raging in her mind. “Unless anyone has something else to add?”

Titus shakes his head to signify he still has nothing to say; the others all stay silent too.

And then Clarke remembers something that totally slipped her mind until now.

“Yes, one more thing”, she says. “What about Lincoln? It’s not right that he keeps being punished for _helping_ us!”

“There is a way I can lift the kill order”, Lexa replies after thinking for a few seconds. “Lincoln will be considered Skaikru after the ceremony, and so he will be free to go on any clan’s territory again.”

“Thank you”, Clarke nods with a small smile.

“Anything else?” Lexa asks again.

“I think we’re good this time”, Clarke answers.

“Then this meeting is over. Kane, Abby, enjoy your stay. You won’t have much to do until the ceremony, so feel free to reach out if you want someone to introduce you to the best places in Polis. Otherwise, I will see you in two days.”

On these words, Lexa leaves the room swiftly, hurrying to start preparing the ceremony as soon as possible; Clarke motions to follow and go back to her room, but Abby stops her.

“Are you seriously considering becoming our ambassador?” she questions, disbelieving. “You’d have to stay here, and not just for a few weeks!”

“I know, mom, it’s exactly why I’m doing this”, Clarke retorts, too mentally tired to find a way to sugar-coat that fact to spare her mother’s feelings. “And we’ll talk about it another time, but it’s _my_ decision, and I won’t go back on it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some rest.”

She’s out the room before anyone can answer.

Instead of going to the elevator directly, though, she makes a detour to another part of the library to find herself a book to read. Everything has been too much of a whirlwind since her people arrived, and she’s in desperate need of some peace and quiet – some alone time during which she can not talk and not strategize and just not _think_ for a while.

 

* * *

_\- The next morning -_

 

“I know you’re in there, Clarke”, Octavia hisses, raising her voice and banging more loudly on the door. “So how about you stop pretending and just come out here?!”

Of course, just like it’s been the case for the past two minutes, she could as well have been yelling at a wall given the response she gets – which is: nothing. There’s no way Clarke isn’t in there, though, because she’s neither with Lexa nor in the library, which leaves only one possible place for her to be: in her freaking room… whose door is closed and guarded by two warriors who said exactly five words to Octavia (‘yu nou na min op’) before ignoring her entirely.

Yeah, thanks a lot, the closed door is telling the same thing, there was no need to actually voice that she can’t enter – she’s well aware of that fact and it’s starting to piss her off quite a bit. Bellamy and Raven are going to arrive any minute now, and when they do, she’d rather they don’t find her still stupidly standing there talking to a door and banging on it.

It was Bell’s idea to let her go first. It made sense, after all: she understands Trigedasleng, she even speaks it decently, so there was a chance it would soften up the guards and she could _maybe_ convince them to let her pass. At least, it seemed more probable than if the three of them arrived together speaking English. Yeah, it made sense.

In theory. Because the reality is, the two guards don’t even acknowledge her existence at the moment, and she could have been asking a fucking pot plant to let her through the door, she would have probably had the same result. But since she’s not leaving until she’s had a conversation with Clarke, this little game of ignoring her is not only incredibly frustrating, but also entirely useless. She’ll camp here if that’s what it takes, so Clarke might as well stop pretending she’s not hearing her right about now… And preferably before her annoyance and anger levels get out the roof.

“CLARKE, OPEN THAT GODDAMN DOOR, I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!!” Octavia yells frankly this time, earning a disapproving glance from the guard on her left, but nothing more.

At least, nothing more during the next five seconds, because after that…

The door flies open and a very pissed off, very not Clarke person looks daggers at Octavia as she barks: “I SWEAR, IF YOU DON’T STOP YELLING NOW, YOU’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO SPEAK AGAIN!” Carmilla then turns to the guards and resumes: “AND YOU, CAN’T YOU BE USEFUL FOR ONCE AND— Oh. Great. New broomsticks”, she grumbles.

It’s not that she gives a damn, it’s just that new broomsticks mean people who’ve never seen her and are not going to understand how she could possibly get out of a room that she didn’t enter through the door, and…

And of course, they attack.

Great.

Some physical exercise in the morning, _exactly_ what she wanted.

Not.

And as if it weren’t enough, the human-sized bullhorn decides to join the party.

Oh, she _really_ doesn’t have enough patience for this right now (or ever, for that matter…).

Annoyed, Carmilla carelessly throws one of the two guards against the opposite wall without really paying attention to how much strength she uses for that before moving away from the trajectory of the other’s sword – sword whose hilt she grabs easily and snatches from the guy’s hand. She doesn’t need it though, and it’s even too bulky to her liking, so she tosses it away. She pushes back the dwarf who thinks she’s any threat to her, effectively throwing said dwarf off balance and making her land on her back, then focuses on the second guard again.

Exactly three seconds later, his head and the wall get to know each other, just like it happened for the first broomstick barely ten seconds before that, and she thinks she’ll finally be able to go back to sleep when she spots another guy running towards her.

Well, if he insists… She can take five more seconds to teach this one a lesson too…

 

* * *

 

Clarke is about to go meet Lexa in the throne room when she hears unusual sounds coming from the corridor on her right. She hesitates for a few seconds, unsure if she should check it out or not (there are guards in front of each door in this part of the tower, after all), but she chooses pretty quickly when she suddenly recognizes a voice.

Bellamy’s.

And what she heard sounded like a cry of pain.

Clarke immediately forgets about telling Lexa that she’d go to the throne room to prepare for the ceremony right after coming back from the orphanage. She runs toward the fighting sounds that echo louder and louder in the corridor as she comes closer to the corner, and when she rounds it, her brain processes the scene with a delay because of how much of a mess it is. Its absurdity clearly doesn’t help, either.

The two guards who should be in front of her bedroom door are slumped against the wall, Bellamy is pulling a face and holding his shoulder, probably from hitting said wall a bit harder than the human body appreciates, and Raven looks ready to attack someone who’s crouched over someone else and—

“Carmilla, no!!” Clarke blurts out when she understands what is happening in front of her.

The vampire looks up and grabs Raven’s wrist before the young woman has time to reach her, squeezing tight enough to hurt but not to break the bones, then rolls her eyes and grumbles: “Do you know that ‘no’ is not my last name? Because you sure seem to use it a lot…”

“I don’t actually remember or maybe even know your last name so I wouldn’t be able to use it, and in any case, could you let Octavia go now? As well as Raven? Before someone explains to me why I just arrived in the middle of a battlefield?”

“I’m not a morning person”, Carmilla replies very seriously with a glare.

“It’s close to noon but okay”, Clarke sighs. “And I suppose they woke you up?”

“Long story short, dwarf brunette was yelling, the two broomsticks were letting her so I had to get up”, Carmilla grouches, “then they all decided attacking me was a good idea. Too tall guy wanted to join the party”, she adds while pointing to Bellamy, “and yet another brunette too apparently…” she finishes while glaring at Raven. “So I nicely introduced all of them to the floor and the walls.”

“Okay”, Clarke sighs again, trying to ignore Bellamy’s eyes switching rapidly between Carmilla and her; he clearly looks like he wasn’t expecting Clarke and his attacker to make small talk while Octavia is still struggling on the floor – her attempts rendered useless by Carmilla’s ironclad grip. “This was a misunderstanding, clearly, so can we consider this to be over? We go elsewhere and you go back to sleep, which means you let my friends go now?”

“Ah, they’re your friends… Makes sense”, Carmilla mutters. “Are all of your people this ill-mannered?!” she complains, before letting go of Raven’s wrist and getting up – which means Octavia can finally do the same.

“Can someone tell me what the hell just happened here?!” Bellamy intervenes. “Who is she and why did she—” He stops then asks, confused: “Uh, was she… sleeping in your room, Clarke?”

“No, I was doing my daily dance routine”, Carmilla deadpans. “WHAT DOES IT LOOK LIKE I WAS DOING?!”

“I don’t know, attacking Octavia, maybe?” Raven retorts, visibly pissed off.

Carmilla glares. “I was only defending myself.”

Clarke uses the argument as an opportunity to check on the two guards; one of them is bleeding and the other one might wake up with some broken ribs, but thankfully they’ll be fine despite having been knocked out as harshly as they were. That’s much better than she expected, and she lets out a sigh of relief.

Octavia scoffs. “Yeah, and _how exactly_ was I supposed to know that someone else was sleeping in Clarke’s room? Especially when the guards themselves apparently didn’t know either?” she asks, crossing her arms and arching a brow. “Speaking of which, who are you and why the hell are you sleeping in Clarke’s room?”

“Because Cap’ still hasn’t given me a separate one?” Carmilla huffs. “Can I go back to sleep now or are you planning on continuing this pointless interrogation?”

“Go”, Clarke sighs, “I’ll handle the explanations…”

It’s not that she wants to – because she actually really doesn’t want to –, but she doesn’t want the situation to escalate again either and by the murderous looks Bellamy, Raven and Octavia are throwing Carmilla’s way (hers too, actually…), she fears it could happen at any moment.

Clarke hears some grumbles that aren’t loud enough to make sense of while Carmilla turns around and goes back into the room again, slamming the door behind her, then all that’s left are her three friends glaring at her. They’re, quite obviously, waiting for her to say something about all of this, but the only thing Clarke manages to utter is: “So, uh, is there somewhere we can talk?”

“Yeah. Let’s go to our room”, Octavia orders more than she suggests, though she doesn’t move an inch and points to the unconscious guards with her chin instead. “Are they gonna be okay?”

“Nothing too serious”, Clarke answers. “Wait here a minute.”

Leaving Bellamy, Raven and Octavia in the middle of the corridor, she hurries to Lexa’s room and quickly explains to the guards standing there that something happened to their colleagues. She doesn’t provide any detail and stresses that the situation is entirely under control now, but she insists on the need for a healer. It takes some arguing to convince one of them to leave his position since their primary mission is to protect the Commander’s room – which is why they didn’t move when they heard Bellamy scream –, but in the end Clarke manages to get her point across: Lexa is currently not in there, and the injured guards should take priority over watching an empty room.

Clarke then makes her way back to her three friends wordlessly; she motions for them to lead the way, and they head towards the elevator together with the guard who’ll go get a healer. He gets out first, two or three floors behind the one they come from, while the four Arkers continue to go down for a bit longer. The silence is as tense as the atmosphere is electric while they make their way to Octavia and Raven’s room, and it isn’t broken until the door is closed and Clarke finds herself facing her three friends.

Friends who look rather pissed, in addition to confused.

This is going to be awkward.

Clarke clears her throat. “So, Octavia, you wanted to see me?” she asks, trying to act as if none of the madness that followed the young girl going to her room actually happened.

“You’ve been avoiding us for the past two days”, Bellamy states angrily, though his voice betrays hurt as well.

“No I haven’t”, Clarke retorts. “It’s not like I had time to make small talk once you arrived! I’ve spent my days in meetings and discussing politics, right now I’m supposed to be helping Lexa plan the ceremony, so excuse me if I prefer to _sleep_ during the night rather than come chat!”

Okay, to be fair, it’s not entirely true. She’s indeed been avoiding the very unpleasant and probably painful conversation that is about to happen, but they don’t need to know that.

“Oh, riiiiight. And where were you this morning exactly, while I was getting attacked by who-the-hell-was-she?!” Octavia accuses sarcastically.

“It would be a bit too long to explain”, Clarke replies, hoping to avoid this particular discussion and to get right to the heart of the matter.

No such luck.

“Which part?”

“What?”

“What would be too long to explain: where you were, or who’s sleeping in your room like it’s hers too?” Octavia elaborates, on the verge of snapping.

“Both”, Clarke sighs.

“Maybe you don’t, but _we_ have all the time in the world”, Bellamy points out. “We’ve already waited three months to hear from you again, so… How much time we’ll waste on this is up to you.”

“Fine”, Clarke shoots back. She’s starting to get annoyed by their attitude and she feels much less sorry about the whole Carmilla situation than she did five minutes ago; after all, Bellamy’s shoulder doesn’t look like it’s anything more than bruised and Raven and Octavia are hurt only in their pride, so there won’t be any long-term consequences. “I’d have to show you where I was this morning because I _really_ don’t have enough time for this right now”, she says as a way to evade the question – her visits to the orphanage are something she feels like keeping private for the time being –, “and Carmilla is…”

She realizes right at this second that she has no idea what to say that doesn’t involve ‘vampire’, ‘currently the bane of my existence’ or ‘someone who could probably kill the three of you in less than ten seconds if she felt like it’, so she creates the first cover story that she manages to imagine. Her silence is already starting to be suspicious anyway.

“She’s a Grounder from another clan. She’s in exile – don’t ask me why because I don’t know –; I met her when I was living alone in the forest. She helped me when I was in a rather shitty situation, and when I came to Polis she tagged along. She’s a bit… Let’s just say she’s not really used to dealing with people anymore. Her reactions can be… unusual. Sorry your meeting her went the way it did.”

“And she’s sleeping in your room _because_?” Octavia pushes.

“Because she’s decided that she likes it”, Clarke shrugs. “She’s kinda nocturnal, so it’s usually not much of an issue anyway. Now if you could _please_ tell me why you woke her up earlier…”

“Because playing drums on your bedroom door was apparently the only way to see you? And believe me, finding out where you sleep was already hard enough. You did a pretty good job at trying to keep us at arm’s length”, Octavia says harshly.

“That doesn’t tell me what you want”, Clarke huffs, tired of hearing accusations every other day.

“How about we start with explanations?” Bellamy cuts in. “And I don’t even mean just for the three months you left us with no news whatsoever, even though that’s quite a big part of it. I’m talking about the fact that you purposefully didn’t tell me Octavia was in TonDC when you let a damn _missile_ drop there, for starters”, he accuses, his jaw set.

“And I can’t believe you’re willing to work with _Lexa_ again”, Octavia spits out. “TonDC and Mount Weather weren’t enough deaths to your liking?!”

A week ago, Clarke would have tried to explain herself, probably – definitely – breaking down to tears in the process. She would have apologized over and over again for the hurt she caused them. Or she would have taken the first way out of this conversation.

She’s the first person surprised when she does none of that, but keeps standing tall and holds her ground instead.

“Are you done? Because if you’re expecting me to listen to you pointing out all the times I fucked up, or all the times I got people killed, you’re going to be disappointed. You’re standing there, judging me and accusing me, but I didn’t see any of you step up when all the decisions you’re criticizing had to be made. You’ve never tried to take my place. You have _no idea_ what it’s like or what it _cost me_. I’m already _living_ with the consequences of what I did, I don’t need to be constantly reminded of what happened! I’m sorry if things have been hard for you. I truly am, and I have no doubt they were. But have you ever tried to imagine what it’s been like _for me_? I have no idea if I’ve had it better or worse than you, but _unlike you_ , I’m not twisting the knife every chance I get!”

“That’s not—” Bellamy starts to answer, but he’s cut off by Raven, who had stayed silent so far.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, we haven’t seen her in three months and the first thing you two do when we get a chance to catch up is act as if she’s responsible for all of the shit that happens in this world?! Gee, well done, I bet she’s super happy to see us again now! Give her a break, guys”, Raven bursts out before moving forward to hug Clarke forcefully. “I’m glad you’re okay”, she whispers.

“It’s good to see you”, Clarke replies with an honest smile, though Raven can’t see it. “And thanks. I’m just really tired of having accusations thrown at me no matter what I do… Not to mention I’ve heard half of them from my mom already”, she sighs.

“That’s why you left, isn’t it?” Raven asks, breaking the hug and looking at Clarke with compassion. “Because you couldn’t take it anymore?”

“Yeah”, Clarke nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I just… I needed to be alone for a while.”

“And how did that work out for you?”

“I don’t regret my choice to leave.”

Raven arches a brow. “But?”

“Still figuring things out”, Clarke shrugs, unwilling to expand on her mental state. “Guys, I gotta go. Lexa’s waiting for me and we can’t afford to be late with the preparations. The ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow, that’s a narrow window to get everything ready.”

“Well thanks for the heads up”, Raven snorts. “Nobody bothered to tell us about that. I guess that’s when you’ll need me, then?”

“I thought Abby would tell you before the general announcement”, Clarke admits. “Lexa will make everything official in a few hours, but yes, the ceremony will be tomorrow afternoon, and that’s indeed when I’m counting on you for our insurance policy”, she adds with a smile. “Thanks, by the way. For coming all the way here.”

“No problem”, Raven shrugs. “I kinda had to anyway. Your mom’s a great doctor, but she’d make a crappy mechanic. I’m pretty sure she’d have messed it up, and given that your plan is kinda crazy to begin with, that would have sucked a lot.”

Ah, there it is. Clarke had been waiting for a passive-aggressive comment such as this one… Raven just going along with the idea of another alliance with the Grounders seemed very weird to say the least, but of course that’s not the case.

“Look, Raven, I know you hate Lexa and the Grounders in general – and frankly I understand you have reasons to –, but I’m also ready to bet Abby and Kane didn’t tell you the exact reasons why this is happening… I don’t have time to explain everything right now, so just trust me on this: we’re trying to avoid a war with that ‘kinda crazy’ plan”, Clarke assures. “Besides, if it works out, we’ll have a lot to benefit from it. Anyway”, she continues as she turns to Bellamy and Octavia, who’ve stayed silent since Raven interrupted them, “will you two come to the ceremony as well?”

“Yeah”, Octavia answers, her tone still biting. “I’m not missing an opportunity to have a talk about Lincoln with Lexa.”

“You won’t need to”, Clarke replies evenly. “It’s been settled yesterday. When we become the thirteenth clan, he’ll be considered Skaikru so Lexa can lift the kill order.”

“And what if he doesn’t want to become Skaikru?”

“If he wants to contest that, he’ll do so afterwards, I guess, but maybe don’t confuse your own issues with what _he_ ’ll deem okay or not. Anyway, I really gotta go now. I’ll see you tomorrow”, Clarke finishes with a small smile.

She’s halfway to the door when Raven calls after her. “You have really shitty taste in roommates, by the way”, the brunette says, half-serious and half-sarcastic – but not accusing. It’s kind of her way of telling Clarke that they’re okay, despite the situation with Carmilla earlier and their diverging opinions.

Clarke cracks up before she can stop herself. The tension she accumulated during the whole conversation washes out of her in chuckles as she looks over her shoulder and shoots back: “Yeah, tell me about it!”

(She’s the first victim of Carmilla’s sleeping arrangements, after all.)

As she gets out of the room and her laughter dies down, she mentally notes that her first explanation with her friends went definitely better than she thought it would – and it’s not long before she realizes that the main reason is because she stood up for herself for the first time in forever rather than let people’s words overwhelm her.

It leaves her with positive thoughts, to the point she even starts daring to hope that maybe everything will be fine in the end after all… That maybe everything will go as planned for once.

(And to be fair, it almost does.)

(Almost.)

 

* * *

 

The throne room is already packed when Clarke enters. She was reading in the library and time flew by without her realizing how fast, so she ended up being among the last people to hurry to the ceremony.

Numerous chairs have been arranged on both sides, and she goes to sit on one of them in the front row – the ambassador’s row, to be precise. It’s the first one out of four or five, depending on the side of the room: a maximum of chairs have been crammed in the room to make sure everyone could get a seat. The only people who will stay up during the entire ceremony are the clan representatives: mostly the leaders, apart from two of them; as Lexa anticipated, the Plains Riders King and the Glowing Forest Chief couldn’t make it in time. Everyone else will be seated the whole time.

Abby is already there on the chair at Clarke’s right; despite not being an ambassador herself, she argued that she had been Chancellor for longer than Kane, so she could _at least_ be sitting in the front row. Since two ambassadors wouldn’t need to use their chairs and no one wanted Abby to start an endless argument, Lexa quickly accepted this arrangement. Clarke took the opportunity to ask for Raven specifically to get the other free seat without disclosing why exactly, which earned her a frown, but permission was granted anyway and the first row’s composition was hence settled.

“I really hope this doesn’t backfire on us”, Abby mutters, glancing at her daughter and scowling when she notices that Clarke’s eyes are circled with war paint. “Kane won’t wear any”, she comments rather than ask any question, but her disapprobation is obvious.

“Because every representative puts on the traditional design of their clan’s leader, and we don’t use war paint whatsoever. The ambassadors who don’t take part in the ceremony can do as they wish, and since I’m also here as Wanheda”, Clarke states and swallows with difficulty, “Lexa and I decided I’d wear some.”

“How does being nicknamed ‘Commander of Death’ have anything to do with whether you should put war paint on your face or not?!”

In the list of conversations Clarke doesn’t want to have at the moment, this one is at the top or really near it, so she tries to cut it short by giving only a quick explanation. “They call me Wanheda since Mount Weather, which made Lexa look weak to her people for turning around when we, uh, succeeded afterwards”, she says, feeling sick as she uses the word ‘succeed’ to define mass murder. “By wearing regular war paint and bowing to recognize Lexa’s authority like everyone else, I’ll reinforce hers. Now, mom, if you c—”

Abby cuts her daughter off before she can finish. “And that’s supposed to be a good thing?!”

“Yes, if we want this ceremony to go well and to actually be useful afterwards”, Clarke half-hisses, annoyed by her mother’s constant questioning bordering on criticism. “The more powerful Lexa appears, the less Nia can become a threat again in the future”, she then whispers through her teeth to make sure no one hears the last sentence. Granted, the noise in the room would have probably been enough to cover her words, but she doesn’t want to take any risk. “Now stop talking before someone hears something they shouldn’t!”

Abby narrows her eyes but shuts up anyway, though she stays tense and visibly ready to snap at any moment should something not go as planned.

As for Clarke, she turns away from her mom – set on ignoring her attitude for the time being – and to the left towards Raven. “Is everything ready?” she asks, still in a murmur.

“What do you think?” Raven replies with a look that conveys her thoughts really well. (Something like _“have you seen who you’re talking to here?”_ , to be precise.)

Clarke shrugs. “Just checking.”

“Check that your mom doesn’t strangle somebody any time soon instead. _That_ will be useful”, Raven retorts with a smirk.

“Tell me about it”, Clarke sighs. “I’m just hoping everything will go well.”

“Hey, it’s _your_ plan, at least make it seem like you believe in its success!” Raven snorts, bumping her shoulder against Clarke’s.

Their playful conversation is cut short by the Commander’s entrance, shortly followed by the other twelve representatives who will have to agree to make Skaikru the thirteenth clan. They all had a meeting in the morning during which Lexa explained her reasons for this decision, and none of the leaders or ambassadors objected anything. Roan’s presence efficiently tamed any wish they might have had to defy their Commander.

One last person goes through the double doors before they’re closed, and Clarke briefly closes her eyes when she recognizes Carmilla. She could have done without the added anxiety, but all the agitation probably woke the vampire up and – of course – she had to come see what was up exactly.

Thankfully, Carmilla doesn’t say anything and simply goes to sit at the back, just one or two seats away from Bellamy and Octavia – who look equally confused as to why she’d choose this particular chair when a few others are still free on the other side of the room, and pissed about her presence altogether.

It doesn’t seem to faze Carmilla at all though, since she waves hello to them with a mischievous smile before her usual bored expression finds its way back on her face.

*

Everyone stops talking the moment the Commander lifts a hand, the room going from noisy to dead silent in a matter of seconds. Lexa is standing in the center of the room, tall and fierce, and the light coming from the hole in the wall behind her helps make her appear even more regal. Kane, Roan and the ten other representatives are forming a line in front of her.

Titus’s voice rings out in the room, loud and unwavering. “Gyon op en spek daun gon Heda!”

Everyone, except Carmilla of course, gets up and bows their head respectfully in unison.

(To be fair, half of the Arkers only imit everyone else because they were unequivocally ordered to.)

(Nobody tried to order Carmilla anything, though. The only people who would have been in a position to do so weren’t foolish enough for that.)

“We are here today to make the first major change in the kongeda since its creation, by accepting Skaikru as the thirteenth clan of the Coalition”, Lexa starts.

The atmosphere in the room is solemn, the importance of the occasion highlighted by the formal decorations hanging from the ceiling and adorning the table placed in front of the Commander’s throne. No one would dare speak in such circumstances, and the absolute silence creates an eerie ambience in the room. Every person present, from the guards to the representatives to the general audience to the ambassadors, is hanging onto Lexa’s every word.

“I believe each of you is aware by now that Skaikru has defeated our greatest enemy, and as such has freed us of a threat that had been constantly looming over our heads for the past decades. We now live in a world where the clans can thrive and, by accepting Skaikru among us, we will be a step closer to achieving long-lasting peace. In this spirit and as a sign of good faith, their leader has agreed to help us destroy the Mountain’s defenses entirely.

“One of Skaikru’s healers, knowledgeable in the ways of ancient medicine such as the one our enemies used, argued in favor of using their resources to turn a part of the Mountain into a healing center. I concurred. I firmly believe in the strength of every last one of my people, which is why I’m certain we can and will move past the fear we felt for years and agree to go there one day. For now, the Reapers will be the first to be treated in the Mountain, but I have no doubt others will follow.

“Skaikru will enter our trade system without any restrictions, and they will start sharing their knowledge with us as much as we will begin teaching them our skills in the near future. A part of Trikru’s territory will now be theirs, following divisions that have already been set and agreed on.

“From this day on, Skaikru are to be treated as any other clan. Any attack against them will be an attack against all of us.

“Does anyone have any objection?”

The last sentence wakes Carmilla up. She was half-sleeping during the way too formal and over-the-top boring monologue, but objections are something she’s really good at – especially when it messes with someone and potentially leads to… interesting developments.

She’s debating whether to say something or to just stretch her arms long enough to make it seem like she’s raising her hands when she realizes Lexa is looking right at her, probably expecting such a reaction from her.

So if she abstains from disturbing the ceremony, it’s absolutely only because the Commander’s eyes contain some sort of plea rather than an order, for once.

(And not at all because she feels like a child getting caught about to do something she shouldn’t.)

(Not. At. All.)

When the room stays silent, Lexa resumes: “Good. Thus we can now proceed with the ceremony itself.”

She turns around and takes a few steps to reach the table set in front of her throne, then grabs a lavishly decorated knife that she uses to slice open the palm of her right hand. Closing her fist, she lets a drop of blood fall into a golden cup before saying: “Kom jus, ai tai Trikru op gon kongeda.”

“Roan kom Azgeda, sent by Nia kom Azgeda to be the representative of her clan today”, Titus announces once Lexa has gone to sit on her throne, from where she will watch each of the leaders or ambassadors take the oath.

Calling Roan first is not a random choice, but a tactical move which will efficiently tame any last-minute rebellious idea that one or several of the leaders close to the Ice Queen could have. Once it’s been made clear and final that Azgeda has agreed to join the Coalition, trying to defy the Commander would be suicidal.

Roan steps forward and repeats the ritual Lexa did only seconds ago, binding Azgeda to the Coalition, then goes back to his place as the Desert Clan’s leader is called in his turn.

*

Clarke breathes a bit more easily with each drop of blood that falls into the golden cup. The second to last to go is Luna from the Boat People, who Lexa said is a long-time ally of Trikru; when she steps forwards with no hesitation whatsoever, Clarke finally allows herself to relax into her chair. The only one who has to take the oath now is Kane, which means they did it – it’s game over for Nia.

She closes her eyes and lets out a sigh of relief when she hears the Ark’s leader say the now familiar Trigedasleng words. It really is done: from this day on, there are thirteen clans in the Coalition.

“Spek down gon Heda”, Titus says again, mirroring his words from the beginning of the ceremony.

This time, the twelve clan representatives drop to a knee while everyone else stays seated, and each person in the room bows their head in a mark of respect for their Commander.

When Clarke’s gaze moves back up, she finds said Commander looking at her and her exclusively. Lexa’s eyes are the only expressive part of her face, otherwise painted with an impassive mask, and they betray her relief that the ceremony went as planned.

_“Thanks for helping me turn that plan into reality”_ , Lexa could as well have said out loud, given how clearly Clarke can hear the words in her own mind.

She answers in the form of a small smile and a nod. _“Thanks for not screwing me over this time”_ , she can’t help but think.

It’s done.

She’ll be able to stay in Polis, where she can see something else than metal all day.

She’ll get to heal her wounds at her own rhythm, without anyone pushing her or blaming her.

It’s done.

She only half-hears the closing speech of the ceremony – speech in which Lexa, among other things, mentions that the tattoo design Kane chose to represent Skaikru is a stylized Ark. She’s too relieved to pay proper attention.

It’s Raven who snaps her out of her thoughts.

“Damn, it was about time she shut up, there’s barely any memory left”, the brunette mutters.

Clarke blinks herself back to reality and turns towards her friend. “You got all of it?”

“Should’ve, yeah”, Raven shrugs. “I’ll have to check the quality of the recording, but I don’t see why it would’ve screwed up”, she adds, pulling a small device from under the vest laid over her thighs.

Less than three seconds tick by before someone from the other side of the room exclaims “Heda memon!” while pointing at the black cube Raven is holding, and then the room turns into a chaos of voices.

Completely taken aback, Clarke can’t for the life of herself figure out what is happening and why.

*

“EM PLENI!!” Lexa yells when no one notices her raised hand, efficiently making every other shout die down. “I will not tolerate such an attitude in this room. Explain yourself”, she orders the man who had spoken first.

“Skaikru have an object marked with the Commander’s symbol”, he spits out, his voice filled with mistrust.

Lexa turns to Raven and her eyes narrow when she notices the black device, on which a white drawing is easily identifiable. “What does this mean?”

“You’ll have to elaborate, because I have no idea what the hell he’s talking about”, Raven retorts.

“What is this and why is the Commander’s symbol on it?”

Clarke puts her hand on Raven’s arm, signalling that she’s taking over. “It’s a recording device, Commander, but I have no idea what the symbol you’re talking about is.”

Well, so much for everything going smoothly after all… Explaining the black box’s role was _really_ not supposed to happen in public.

She can’t blame Raven for pulling it from under the vest that was hiding it, though. Once the ceremony was over, it should have gone unnoticed, and Clarke still doesn’t understand why it didn’t.

“What is a recording device and why is my symbol _drawn_ on it?” Lexa demands, her voice cold.

“Your symbol is the number eight?!” Raven asks, half-confused and half-incredulous, before Clarke can muster a more diplomatic answer.

“Is this supposed to be a number?”

“Well, yeah, what else do you want it to be?”

“My symbol”, Lexa hisses, visibly annoyed at having to repeat this yet another time.

“Thanks, I got that, but either your damn symbol is an eight, or—” Raven pauses, a spark of understanding flashing through her mind. “Are you talking about the infinity sign?”

“I do not know this sign.”

“It’s like an eight, except turned”, Raven shrugs.

“Then yes. That is the Commander’s symbol”, Lexa confirms. “Now explain.”

Whispers have started again in the entire throne room – not loud enough to impact the good comprehension of the conversation going on, but certainly loud enough to be noticeable. Most of the people sitting there have never read or written anything in their entire life, and as a result couldn’t recognize the 8 drawing for what it is: a number. They only know the sign as the Commander’s symbol, something which – from what Clarke can make out of the whispers – is apparently sacred, and it makes their reaction understandable.

Though their freaking out won’t be helped by the explanation of what the black box is, unfortunately.

“It’s a recording device”, Clarke begins. “With it, it’s possible to, uh, we can— You can use it to—” Not used to explaining technology to people who don’t understand half of the words that come to her mind, she struggles to construct a proper sentence. “If you start it, then someone speaks, and then you press a button, you can hear that person’s words again”, she finally manages to get out. “As for the 8, uh, Raven?”

“It’s just because it’s the eighth one I had to make”, the brunette shrugs. “Believe it or not, but when you’re working with half-dead equipment like I do, fails happen more often than not. And since my deadline was _quite_ short, if a device didn’t work, I created another one rather than spend hours trying to fix the issue. I numbered them so I wouldn’t mix them up, and the first one who happened to be decent enough that I’d trust it to work when I wanted it to was the eighth one. End of story. Didn’t think people would make such a fuss about it.”

“Alright”, Lexa nods slowly.

“How do we know she’s not lying?” Titus intervenes. “How do we know that… thing is what she says it is?”

Which leads, of course, to even more agitation in the room.

“Well that’s gonna be easy to prove, and I needed to check if it recorded properly anyway”, Raven huffs as she presses the play button before Clarke can stop her.

(What better way to calm down people who are scared of technology than to display it right in front of them?)

Whispers turn into screams as Lexa’s opening speech starts being played by the device, and if the attitude of some of the people jumping up from their chairs is any indication, Clarke is suddenly really glad that none of them are allowed to have weapons on them in Polis.

(Most of the guards shift in unease too, but at least they don’t move from their spots.)

(More exactly, not a single guard has moved from their spot _yet_.)

(Clarke readies her knife inside her sleeve. She won’t hesitate to use it if this situation ends up turning into an unavoidable fight.)

“Oh for fuck’s sake, that’s just some portable, battery-powered recorder, y’all need to take a chill pill”, Raven almost vociferates as she shuts it down, her meager patience long since exhausted.

“I mean, the worst crime it can do is make you sound awful”, Carmilla adds ironically, though no one really hears her or pays attention to her. The whole situation, though ridiculous, is at least much more fun than the vampire had anticipated.

“Shof op”, Lexa orders mere seconds later, her voice low and threatening. The tone is apparently as efficient as a scream, because the room immediately turns quiet again. “Skaikru have provided an explanation. Their technology may be foreign to us, but they did not lie about what the box is for. It is settled. The ceremony is over, you may leave.”

Despite their obvious desire to keep arguing and maybe even throw some accusations around, the Grounders all obey. Two guards open the doors and a flow of people get out immediately, until the only ones left in the room are the Arkers, Titus, Lexa and… Carmilla, obviously, who decided she was not going to miss whatever happens next.

“Why is _she_ still here?” Abby mutters.

“Don’t question it”, Clarke replies under her breath. She’s not really focused on her mother, though, but rather on Lexa, whose eyes don’t leave her.

“None of you warned me about this”, the Commander says evenly, apparently talking to all the Arkers – though it’s clear as day to Clarke that she’s the only one the question is really addressed to, because Lexa’s gaze says it all.

_‘You did this without consulting me.’_

_‘You didn’t believe I’d keep my word.’_

Clarke knows why she asked Raven to record the ceremony in secret, and she wouldn’t change her mind about it even if she could go back in time, but somehow going behind Lexa’s back sits a lot less well with her than it did a week ago.

“Commander, we—” Kane starts, but Clarke cuts him off.

It was her idea, she’s the one who has to handle the consequences now. Especially since she doesn’t want to jeopardize the newly-founded political relations between the two leaders.

“Kane, don’t. This one’s on me.” Turning back to Lexa, she says: “I’ll explain. In private.”

She doesn’t want to have this conversation with the Commander, her impassive mask and her formal answers. She hurt _Lexa_ way more than she created a political issue with the recording device, and _Lexa_ deserves an explanation void of any adjustments for other people’s ears.

(She doesn’t stop to take a moment to wonder when taking Lexa’s feelings into account became a thing with her.)

(She just doesn’t.)

“Alright”, Lexa answers, nodding slowly. “Everyone. Leave us.”

“Heda, if I may?”

“What, Titus?” the Commander hisses in annoyance.

He moves forward until he can whisper in her ear, low enough that no one can hear him.

Well, no one except Carmilla, that is.

“People will be talking about what happened here, Heda. I believe you should not let the marked box out of your sight until it becomes an absolute certainty that it is what Skaikru pretend it is – until we can _prove_ that they had no malicious intention or link to your symbol whatsoever… What I mean is, the secrecy _and_ the drawing combined make them look suspect enough. You are usually not that quick to rule people out as not guilty, and it might—” Titus gulps and shifts uncomfortably. “It might lead to some questioning your judgment when it comes to Skaikru.”

“It’s funny how you’d almost sound smart, if only your blinded dislike of Sky-whatever wasn’t so completely obvious… Are they the ones responsible for shaving your head or something?” Carmilla sasses, still slouched in her chair on the other side of the room.

A few feet away, Octavia and Bellamy turn to look at her with wide eyes, clearly wondering if she pretended to hear something or if she indeed managed to understand the inaudible whisper. Not bothering to answer the unasked question, Carmilla just smirks and wiggles her eyebrows.

“That is enough”, Titus growls. “Heda, I will not tolerate being disrespected by this splita any longer.”

“One, you could have the decency to insult me in a language I can actually understand”, Carmilla retorts, causing Octavia to frown at her. “And two, you should avoid compensating your lack of power and influence with big words and empty threats. It doesn’t help anyone take you seriously.”

Visibly not used to being the target of such keen sarcasm, Titus stays mute for several seconds, unable to find something to say. His anger is radiating off him in waves though, made obvious by the slight tremble of his whole body.

“Empty threats?” he repeats when he finds his voice again. “ _I’m_ the one making threats?!”

“Oh, are you done with that yet?” Raven snaps, interrupting Titus and Carmilla’s verbal fight. “I showed you, it’s just a damn recorder!”

“Yes, you indeed proved that repeating things is something it can do”, Titus shoots back. “But we have no guarantee it cannot do other, more dangerous things as well!”

“Right, that’s exactly the reason why tech girl over here just took out the device for everyone to see”, Carmilla comments sarcastically before imitating Raven’s voice. “‘Hey everybody, LOOK AT THIS DEVICE I’M GOING TO USE TO SCREW ALL OF YOU!’ Get over yourself, it’s an _eight_ , it’s an infinity sign if you rotate it, or glasses, or a friggin’ superhero mask! It could be anything, it’s just two stupid circles next to each other. If your sacred symbol was some complex drawing, I might have actually agreed with you, but _this_ ”, she adds, pointing to the device in Raven’s hand, “this is just random.”

“You might want to mind your place”, Titus replies threateningly, which leaves Carmilla utterly unimpressed.

“And you should be careful not to forget yours as well”, Lexa cuts in with the same tone, having had enough of the exchange of courtesies flying left and right in the room. “You are here to _advise_ me, not to question my decisions or to lay the blame on Skaikru however you wish. You would do well to remember that the people in front of you are now part of the Coalition. I will not tolerate any more of your baseless accusations.”

As Titus grows paler and paler with each word, Lexa starts seriously considering dismissing him permanently at some point in the near future. Not only was he reluctant, to say the least, to give any advice during the negotiations with Skaikru – thus rendering himself useless –, but he’s also starting to have an inclination for insubordination… Something that the Commander greatly dislikes. Not to mention that she might have someone better suited for the job of advisor at her disposal: much less superstitious, much more rational and apparently with much broader knowledge of history and geography.

She makes a mental note to have a serious talk with Carmilla in a day or two.

(Unfortunately though, she fears that, one way or another, she’ll have to learn to deal with insubordination.)

“Now, I will not repeat this once more. Leave us”, Lexa orders.

“I wasn’t going to stay here any longer anyway”, Carmilla states with a small shrug. “I swear, every time there is something genuinely entertaining going on, one of you dimwits manages to ruin it”, she sighs as she gets up and leaves the room.

“Clarke?” Abby says, looking at her daughter questioningly.

“I’m staying to handle the explanations”, Clarke confirms. “Just… Go back to your rooms, okay?”

She doesn’t wait for her mom to answer before stepping forward and walking towards Lexa’s throne. Behind her, the Arkers turn around and follow Carmilla out of the room, though Bellamy stays frozen for a few seconds – as if he were going to say something. He eventually doesn’t, though, and as soon as he steps into the corridor, the doors get closed behind him.

Lexa gets up to face Clarke, her expression an unreadable mask. They stand in front of each other without speaking for a moment, their bodies too close for personal space but at the same time much farther apart that they once would have been.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are out of Clarke’s mouth before she’s really thought them through, and by the time they ring in the air around them, it’s too late to take them back.

She doesn’t try, for that matter, but she doesn’t elaborate either – very much unwilling to admit that she’s not sorry about the decision she made, but only for hurting Lexa in the process.

“When?” the Commander questions instead of acknowledging the apology, her voice unwavering.

“I got the idea when you suggested making us the thirteenth clan”, Clarke details. “I wanted us to have an insurance policy this time, in case the plan backfired on us. There wasn’t much I could do, but recording the ceremony to have undeniable proof of the promises you made to my people was the best idea I could come up with.”

Clarke stops there, but she knows Lexa can fill in the blanks. A recording means the possibility to make anyone listen to the words that were said, which thus means it has the potential to discredit the Commander entirely in the event of a new betrayal. It’s a fail-safe that they didn’t have for the first alliance.

What surprises Clarke as she speaks is that even with the shadow of Mount Weather hovering over the situation, her words come out in a tone that is neither biting nor accusing; she rather just states facts. She doesn’t approach the conversation like a confrontation, but simply like an explanation.

(The fact that she would have reacted a lot more defensively even just a week ago is not lost on her.)

(She ignores it.)

(She also ignores the small part of her pointing out how good she’s getting at ignoring the things she doesn’t want to think about lately.)

“So you asked Raven to build that… device?” Lexa asks, hesitating on the last word.

“Yes. In the letter I wrote to Kane and my mom.”

“I understand. It was a smart tactical move, though I could have done without the situation that it resulted in.”

It doesn’t surprise Clarke in the slightest that Lexa slips immediately back into her Commander armor in this instant: even when she’s hurt on a personal level, it’s clearly much easier for Lexa to approach an issue using rational thinking rather than emotions. Not to mention that she’s been taught to detach herself from her feelings… And that she likes to pretend she doesn’t have any.

But Clarke doesn’t want Lexa to shut herself away like that in front of her. She knows way too well what it’s like to internalize everything, and following her realization of how similar they truly are, she decided she doesn’t want to be one of the reasons why burdens pile up on the Commander’s shoulders. Not anymore. Not if she can help it.

It’s both the least and the best she can offer Lexa at this point.

So she tries to clarify where they stand as well as she can.

“I already told you, Lexa: I don’t trust you. I made that mistake once, and I’m not a fool – I won’t do it again. I don’t regret my decision to ask Raven to make that recorder; I’ll go behind your back if I think it’s the right thing to do, just like I know you won’t hesitate to go behind mine if you have to”, Clarke says evenly, then softens her tone as she adds: “I know you mean well, though, I know you truly want this to work out – I _know_. But anything could happen, something that we couldn’t predict and that would ruin our efforts. There was no way I was risking heading into another Mount Weather unprepared; I know you understand that.”

Clarke takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly. Even though she’s made progress, even though the betrayal and the deaths don’t haunt her every second she spends awake anymore, mentioning Mount Weather purposely is still incredibly hard for her to do. This speech is costing her a lot, and she has a feeling Lexa is aware of that.

“It wasn’t personal, though. Believe me, I really hope I never have to use that device”, Clarke continues earnestly once she’s in control of her emotions again. “And, for what it’s worth… I didn’t expect the chaos it caused. I mean, Raven kept it hidden during the ceremony for safety reasons, but once it was over, I don’t think she expected anyone to even notice it… It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Sorry for the mess”, she shrugs apologetically.

Flickers of conflicting emotions run across Lexa’s face for a moment, too fast to be properly analyzed; she doesn’t reply right away, and Clarke even starts to wonder if she’s ever going to get a response by the time the silence is finally broken.

“Would you have told me?”

“About what?” Clarke asks, confused.

“If no one had noticed the device, would you have told me about it afterwards?” Lexa elaborates.

“Yes”, Clarke answers truthfully.

(No need to specify that it would have been mainly as a warning of political leverage.)

(She has a feeling Lexa knows it all the same.)

“So, what’s the Commander’s symbol exactly and why is it worth such an extreme reaction?” Clarke continues as a change of subject before too much tension can build in the room.

“It’s an 8 turned to the side, as you already know”, Lexa answers, frowning slightly. “And it’s sacred.”

“Yeah, okay, I got that”, Clarke says, biting her lip. The entirely literal answer, delivered matter-of-factly and in all seriousness, amuses her greatly, and she feels like smiling – so that’s what she does.

Because of the confusion created by the eight on the recorder, the relief that had started to flow through Clarke’s body during the ceremony was pushed to the back of her mind, but now that everything is settled, it really dawns on her that the ceremony went exactly the way it was supposed to. Nia won’t be able to form an alliance with the Arkers because they’ve become the thirteenth clan, Mount Weather will be disarmed, ideas of war will fade into memories, and everything will be fine. At least for a little while.

If life on Earth hadn’t tired her to her core, she probably would have been dizzy with the thought.

(She can’t deny, though, that feeling carefree for the first time in forever is a nice consolation prize.)

“I should have expressed myself better”, Clarke resumes, still smiling. “What’s the story of this sacred symbol? Where does it come from?”

“After a Commander’s death, whoever succeeds in opening the door with the symbol is the one the Spirit has chosen. That is why it is sacred among Trikru, and now by extension among all the clans since I created the Coalition. Nobody remembers its exact origin”, Lexa explains, visibly relaxing too at the sight of Clarke’s smile.

They’re alone and mostly burden-free for now, so they can allow themselves to lower their walls. They can have a simple conversation, without needing to think their words through or to worry about any possible ulterior motive.

And that’s something they both truly need.

“The door with the symbol?” Clarke asks, definitely curious about the whole story.

“I think I should show you”, Lexa says. “Besides, your people are the thirteenth clan now. You have a right to know how the next Commander will be chosen.”

“Yeah, well, as I already told you once, try to keep your spirit where it is right now”, Clarke mumbles as Lexa passes by her and walks to the throne room’s doors. Before the Commander can open them, though, Clarke turns around and calls after her on the spur of the moment. “Hey, Lexa?”

“Yes, Clarke?”

“We did it”, she whispers. “The ceremony, the alliance. We did it.”

“Yes indeed”, Lexa confirms, her expression softening and a smile appearing on her lips. “It is done. Now follow me.”

As she crosses the room, Clarke tries her best not to admit to herself how warm that smile makes her feel.

 

* * *

 

“So where are we going exactly?” Clarke asks, breaking the silence that settled between them once they left the tower.

“I am taking you to the light building. The door with the symbol is in it.”

“Which would be where exactly?”

“It’s not in the city itself”, Lexa details. “We’ll have to get into the woods to find it.”

“Should I bother asking more questions to know what that ‘light building’ is exactly or should I wait until we arrive?” Clarke suggests, the corners of her mouth tugging up. She really feels in a playful mood for once, and she decides not to fight it. She knows the sadness and the self-loathing will come back soon enough.

“If you don’t want to have walked all the way to the building for nothing, waiting might be the smart option”, Lexa replies, obviously fighting a smile of her own but not quite letting it show beside a twinkle in her eye. As much as she allows her Commander mask to fall a little around Clarke, she still makes sure to keep a mostly straight face as she walks in the streets of Polis. Her people expect her to display strength and authority, not amusement. She can’t afford to appear weak in any way.

“Fine, I’m waiting”, Clarke says with an exaggerated sigh. “But I need a distraction, so… Tell me, what’s the tall building over there and why are so many people going in and out of it?”

Talking about the organization of Polis seems like a good topic of conversation, not to mention that it could come in handy one day.

“It’s a marketplace of sorts, where farmers or craftsmen from the surrounding villages can come to trade their products whenever they want. I suppose there are lots of them today, hence the crowd.”

“Okay. What’s the story of the building on the other side of the street? The only one that’s not crumbled?”

“It is the home of several families”, Lexa answers with no hesitation.

The discussion – or rather the constant questioning – continues while they make their way through the city, and soon Clarke is amazed by Lexa’s knowledge of Polis. The Commander can easily tell the purpose of each building, or indicate the best place to buy food nearby, no matter how far away from the tower they get.

“How do you manage to remember all that?” she asks at some point, incredibly impressed. Having spent most of her life in the small corridors of the Ark, she finds the scale of Polis hardly even conceivable, despite currently walking in its streets.

“I spent most of my life here”, Lexa shrugs slightly. “It helps.”

“You were born here?”

“No. But I was brought to the orphanage when I was four, after my father was taken. My mother died at birth, so I had no one left to care for me. I didn’t leave Polis again until I became Anya’s second.”

Clarke bites her lip. So much for a casual conversation and way to ruin it with one single question… Awakening Lexa’s ghosts was far from her intention.

“I’m sorry”, she mumbles. “I didn’t mean to…” she trails off, unable to find how to finish her sentence.

“It was a long time ago”, Lexa says evenly, as if it didn’t affect her at all anymore – but Clarke can see the tiny cracks in the Commander’s otherwise amazingly well-crafted armor of pretended emotionlessness all the same. Besides, she remembers the pain in Lexa’s eyes when the latter had first mentioned her father, right before they went to the orphanage for the first time, and that pain is quite telling. Someone who doesn’t care doesn’t hurt like that.

Something Clarke had never thought about then dawns on her right at that moment: when Lexa took Cage’s deal, she also stripped herself of her own revenge.

From having, at first, a purely black and white view of the betrayal at Mount Weather, Clarke is slowly starting to find herself navigating dozens of shades of grey instead.

“You like Polis”, Lexa states more than she asks, as if the conversation never deviated from light-heartedness.

“Yeah”, Clarke confirms, going along with the much-needed change of subject. “It’s so different from the Ark, so… vast, so full of life, it’s… refreshing. Healing, too. Before I arrived here, I had never even seen a building – well, I mean, I did see pictures, but it’s very different to actually stand in front of one –, and now, the whole city just feels… I don’t know, I just… I like it here.”

“Is that why you want to be Skaikru’s ambassador?”

“I don’t think I can handle going back and living in the Ark again”, Clarke admits quietly, swallowing down the memories that are starting to sneak their way back into her mind. “Polis is… different. I don’t have a history here, it’s…”

“An occasion to start anew?” Lexa asks softly, trying to help Clarke put words on what she feels.

The question is also not as innocent as it seems at first, though, and they’re both fully aware of that fact. Lexa isn’t just talking about living in a new place, but about the relationship between them as well – whatever it was the first time around, and whatever it’s been turning into since Clarke arrived in Polis. Lexa is asking if they could, by any chance, sweep away the past one day and be anything more than political allies at some point in the future. Even just friends.

Clarke stays silent for a while, unsure of what to make of the mess that her brain has turned into recently. There are too many conflicting thoughts endlessly swirling in her mind for her to find where she stands exactly, but she also can’t deny that she’s far from fleeing Lexa’s company. She even finds comfort in it lately; yet the truth is, she doesn’t know if it could one day evolve beyond a tentative friendship again – or if she wants it to, for that matter. Lexa being the Commander creates too many unpredictable variables, and getting emotionally wrecked once more because of external issues they can’t control is really not too high on Clarke’s wish list.

“I don’t know. Maybe. But no matter the place, it won’t erase or make me forget what happened”, she answers honestly. “It just won’t be constantly suffocating me.”

Lexa turns her head to look at Clarke with glimmering green eyes, whose color is even more striking by contrast with the ceremonial war paint the Commander is still wearing. Not commenting in any way on what was essentially a rejection, she just admits: “I’m glad you’re staying.”

“Me too”, Clarke assures with a small smile, one that Lexa mirrors briefly before they both look straight ahead again, finishing their walk lost in their thoughts and in a rather comfortable silence.

*

From the moment they left the tower, it takes them over an hour to reach the light building; and when they arrive, Clarke guesses immediately that it’s not just any construction, but rather an ancient research facility of some kind – probably a military or a governmental one, even. For starters, there are iron bars in front of the rare windows, located about one or two floors high – near the roof –, and she’s ready to bet the thick glass is bulletproof. As for the walls, they are covered with metal; when she and Lexa get through the front door, Clarke also notices that said walls are at least twice as thick as regular ones.

In other words, the place is a fortress.

The front door, which is actually the only way in the building, looks ridiculous compared to the level of protection of the rest, and Clarke only understands why once her eyes get accustomed to the mild darkness surrounding Lexa and her. There’s a second door only a few feet away, and it’s an armored one this time.

“What is this place?!” Clarke wonders out loud, stunned. It’s absolutely not what she imagined it would be.

“It’s the light building”, Lexa says with a small smirk.

“Yeah, I was thinking more, uh, about before the nuclear war”, Clarke replies absent-mindedly, still too stupefied to realize that Lexa is actually teasing her with the obvious answer this time. “That’s not your regular amount of protection, rather a ‘you won’t get in here even with a tank’ level of safety. It’s weird that it’s isolated like this, I would have expected to find it in a military complex or something… Not just in some random place. I wonder if the plan was to construct more buildings like this one around, but the project was cut short by the bombs. It’d make more sense then.”

“The door with the symbol is in front of you”, Lexa points out, ignoring Clarke’s speech – half of which she didn’t understand.

“Oh, yeah, I… didn’t even notice”, Clarke admits, shaking her head to help pull herself back to reality. The infinity sign is indeed slightly engraved into the armored door at eye level, which makes it appear black on grey, and only her state of utter surprise could make her miss it once she was used to the surrounding darkness. “So what’s on the other side of that door?”

“When a Commander dies, the Spirit finds its successor”, Lexa says, deciding not to answer Clarke’s question immediately. “However, there is no obvious way to see who was chosen. We cannot know for sure until the new Commander manages to open this door.”

“And how does someone do that exactly?” Clarke frowns, uselessly tugging at the vertical metal bar serving as a handle.

Lexa steps forward and opens a black box next to the door – another thing that Clarke had not yet noticed. “You find the right combination.”

“Of course, seems only logical there’d be an entry code”, Clarke mutters. “Damn, they were really not kidding around with security”, she adds when she notices that the keys are not just numerals, but include the whole alphabet as well. “How can anybody find that code?! There’s not even an indication of how long it’s supposed to be!”

“You cannot guess it”, Lexa assures. “That’s the point.”

“You lost me”, Clarke frowns again.

“Only the Spirit remembers the right combination. Whoever knows it is the Commander.” As Clarke stares at her in disbelief, Lexa tilts her head and adds: “You don’t believe in reincarnation.”

“No. It’s not scientific and it’s never been proven in any way. This just… doesn’t make sense to me.”

“Yet you’re friends with someone who can turn into a cat?” Lexa enquires, raising an eyebrow.

Clarke opens her mouth to answer, but she clamps it shut again immediately.

Alright, point taken, meeting a vampire kind of took its toll on logical reasoning… It doesn’t prove the existence of every supernatural phenomenon ever described or seemingly invented, though.

But still. It’s harder to rely on science only once you’ve had a conversation with a sassy immortal dead-but-alive being.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Carmilla a friend… But I get your point”, Clarke admits. “So let’s say reincarnation really is a thing. You just, what, make everyone stand in line and have a try? Hardly an efficient method.”

“That is more or less what happens, yes”, Lexa nods. “But with the sonkeryon.”

“Does the Spirit always choose one of them? That seems… odd.”

“It’s actually the purpose of this class. The children who show the most promising overall abilities are trained to be the best, and the most fit to lead will be chosen. Often, the previous Commander can guess who their successor will be, because the Spirit already recognizes the qualities it’s searching for. I don’t know of any Commander who was not a sonkeryon.”

“And it’s always one of the children currently in training?”

“It is generally a teenager like I was, seldom a young adult”, Lexa details. “Once our training is done, we stay in Polis for some time – just in case –, but it is rare if a new Commander has seen more than twenty summers already. Once a sonkeryon is done with school altogether, they generally become unit leaders, or advisors or sometimes even scribes.”

“And the Spirit couldn’t just choose among those former sonkeryon?” Clarke asks. “I mean, one of them is probably more competent to lead than a kid, if only just because of life experience!”

“Experience can be a powerful ally, but a great danger as well”, Lexa argues. “Once you think you know enough, you can easily become your own greatest enemy, because you refuse to learn and adjust. A teenager may be more likely to make mistakes, but also more likely to question themselves and not to repeat them. This comes less naturally to adults over time, because of that experience you mentioned. Memories can hinder creativity and adaptability. There is a balance between too much experience and not enough of it. You gained some when you arrived here, and I believe you made mistakes, but you learned from them. This, as well as your strength, is what makes you fit to be a true leader for your people. Tell me, Clarke, how many times did you have to step up and dispute your adult, chosen leaders’ decisions, because they believed their experience from the sky would be valid on the Ground as well?” Lexa challenges.

“Too many times, unfortunately”, Clarke grumbles. “Okay, again, I get your point. When you put it like that, it makes sense.”

“You have adapted”, Lexa finishes. “They haven’t yet.”

“Last question: couldn’t someone just see the Commander type in the code, then pretend they’ve been chosen by the Spirit? I mean, your leader selection method doesn’t seem really foolproof to me.”

“No. A Commander opens this door only once in their life, and when a sonkeryon tries to find the combination, the other door behind us is closed. Cheating isn’t an option”, Lexa explains.

Clarke, who had been wondering why a regular front door had been built, suddenly understands its purpose: hiding the entry code from anyone’s wandering eyes. The Grounders’ use of that door is simply the same than the one it had been designed for.

“Alright. _Other_ last question: what’s behind the door?”

“The proof of a sonkeryon’s success: making the sun shine inside the building. People know the new Commander has been found when they see the light.”

“You mean switching the power back on”, Clarke deduces. “The building must have had its own engine-generator, which is apparently still working. It adds up. What else is in there?”

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“The room is empty.”

“Now _this_ doesn’t add up”, Clarke frowns. “Unless the building was finished right before the nuclear war rendered it useless, the room being empty doesn’t make any sense. I don’t understand.”

“I can’t help you. This is the last place with remnants of ancient technology we still use, and even though it is sacred among Trikru, the memory of what was here is long lost. Nobody remembers why this is specifically the only way we can pick out the new Commander either. Honestly, what most of my people know about this place is that it is illuminated when the Spirit’s successor is found; in other words, that the sonkeryon who creates light is the new Commander.”

“You don’t really create light, though”, Clarke remarks.

“No”, Lexa agrees with a small smile, “but a great majority believes that the Commander has the power of the sun, and that I take this power from the sacred symbol. This is why everyone was so upset when they saw Raven with her device. To be fair, even I was wary at first, so you can imagine what it was like for those who are less rational and rather superstitious. Not to mention that the Mountain Men taught us to fear technology as a whole… This was really not a great mix.”

“Yeah, well, now that we’re the thirteenth clan, they’ll have to get used to it”, Clarke shrugs. “We use technology all the time. And I’m still not done with the questions, actually… I understand why the people of _your_ clan freaked out, but what about those from the other clans? The ambassadors? Even some leaders looked ill at ease when they saw the eight!”

What was left of Lexa’s smile disappears entirely from her face at Clarke’s question. Her expression turns sad more than it hardens, though; she also lowers her gaze a bit, and doesn’t answer immediately.

Since she was staring at the infinity sign and not at Lexa, it takes Clarke a few seconds to understand that there’s something wrong. Turning her head once she realizes the silence is becoming unnatural, she takes in the change in Commander’s attitude. “Lexa?” she frowns.

The latter meets Clarke’s eyes briefly then looks away again. She appears to be lost in her thoughts, or to be having an internal debate; Clarke couldn’t tell exactly. This reaction is very unusual for Lexa, so it makes reading her a lot harder.

In any case, Clarke opens her mouth to ask another question, but it turns out she doesn’t have or need to: Lexa shifts slightly, licks her lips, and finally starts to answer after all.

“Once I decided to create the Coalition, convincing some clans to join wasn’t too much of an issue, but several other leaders were simply opposed to the idea of an alliance. Trikru wasn’t even at war with their clans; they just wanted nothing to do with me – in some cases, they were too busy fighting their own wars to even take the time to listen to me. It took a great deal of time and effort to make them consider what I was offering, and when they did, some argued I was not the one who should lead the Coalition. Most clan leaders are twice as old as I am, and, the same way you did earlier, they thought age and experience were decisive factors. Besides, they didn’t believe I was strong enough. That point got settled quickly with swords, knives and some bloodshed, but they kept questioning why Trikru’s successive Commanders are reckless with their lives: I fight on the front lines when a conflict arises while they stay safely behind; in most clans, the leader shows their strength only in individual fights or through their decisions, not by marching with their warriors. It is different in Trikru, so they believed I was an easy target which would get killed soon – we were still at war with Azgeda and the Blue Cliff Clan –, and they feared the next ‘child in charge’ would ruin all my efforts. At some point, since the negotiations were stalling, I invited them to Polis and took them here to explain why no Commander fears for their life: because we know the Spirit will live on. And if I were to die, they could rest assured the next Commander would continue my legacy.

“They didn’t believe me. I wasn’t surprised: I hoped they wouldn’t doubt my word and I wouldn’t have to do anything to convince them, but I expected their skepticism. And I was ready. I had intentionally not mentioned the light yet, so I said the building is sacred and meditating there makes me stronger. So strong that I am given power by the sun itself. One of them laughed, so I told them I could prove it – that the sun would shine for me if I went in the building. They only laughed harder since it was a rainy day, but I asked them to wait outside and I entered the room. I waited, as if I were really meditating, and then I made the light shine.

“When I came back, they were serious again, and paler than when I left them. I don’t think they believed me entirely, but there was enough room for doubt for them to recognize I could be the one to lead the Coalition. The Blue Cliff Clan surrendered not long afterwards, but Azgeda tried to discredit me.”

Lexa pauses, swallows with difficulty and averts her eyes.

“The trick I used was the only one of my secrets that Costia knew, because she was the one who suggested it when I was planning the leaders’ visit and trying to decide what I would reveal to them exactly. If the Ice Queen had learned about it, I have no doubt it would have cost me the leadership as well as probably my head, but… that didn’t happen”, Lexa dismisses, though the ache in her voice is impossible to miss. “Azgeda agreed to a truce not long afterwards; eventually, Nia recognized my authority and joined the Coalition. Once the clans were united and trade started, my people’s belief that a Commander can harness the power of the sun spread and ultimately validated my story. I’m certain none of the leaders disclosed how I convinced them I’d be the one to lead the Coalition, because they’re most certainly afraid it would give me even more power compared to them in their people’s eyes: they would add credibility to what is essentially still a rumor in their clans, though a powerful one. So in the end, hardly anybody knows I am the only Commander who made the light shine twice, but people from all clans recognize the symbol as sacred and my power as unquestionable as long as I do not display weakness.”

“And you trust _me_ with that secret?” Clarke enquires, a little disbelieving, as she tries to process that much information at once.

“I trust you know enough about technology to understand what the light is, rather than believe the myths my people tell”, Lexa deflects quietly.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it”, Clarke pushes. “You didn’t have to tell me all of this.”

“No”, Lexa agrees. “I did not have to.”

“Then why do you keep—”

“Clarke”, Lexa says, efficiently interrupting her. “Even if you decided to repeat my story, no one would believe you. It would be your word against mine, and judging by the way people reacted to Raven’s device earlier, I believe Skaikru are not entirely welcome to have anything to do with my symbol yet. Since no one other than me can open this door and no one would dare ask me to, that would settle it even more easily.”

“Yeah, I suppose so”, Clarke sighs, even though she’s not entirely convinced. She doesn’t insist, doesn’t make Lexa admit that she trusts her more than she should, but a part of her is scared of having information about the current Commander that she isn’t supposed to.

She’s scared because she doesn’t know what she’d do with it if she ever were in a position where using it might help her people out of a bad situation at some point in the future.

She’s scared because she actually _does_ know what she’d do with it if she ever were in a position where using it might help her people out of a bad situation at some point in the future.

She should be _glad_ to have that type of information – she’s not. Not at all. She doesn’t want to potentially end up holding the Commander’s life in her hands. She’s been proven once already that she can’t kill Lexa even if she _wants_ to (or, at least, has done a very good job of convincing herself of as much), so she’s sure being forced to make a decision that would sentence the Commander to death would shatter her – and forever this time – in the process. And Clarke hates that fact because she _swears_ she doesn’t feel _anything_ for Lexa anymore, but she can’t do a thing about the fear that fills her at the idea of Lexa dying; it’s there, whether she wants it or not.

(Okay, if she’s honest with herself, maybe there are some remnants of attraction.)

( _Physical_ attraction. Whatever might still be there, it’s only, purely, solely and exclusively _phy-si-cal_.)

(And this attraction has nothing to do with her refusal to consider the eventuality of a new Commander taking over. No, that’s only about what’s best for her people, and because of how similar they are. Clarke just doesn’t want to lose the only person who understands her.)

(Of course.)

The silence that settled between Lexa and her creeps its way under her skin, bringing unpleasant thought after unpleasant thought at the forefront of her mind. The afternoon wasn’t supposed to end like this; after the success of the ceremony and the relief it brought her, she hoped the weight on her shoulders would stay gone at least until the next morning… But unfortunately, it’s already coming back and trying to crush her underneath it – as usual.

Truth be told, she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since the negotiations started, she’s _always_ been waiting for the other shoe to drop, even though she didn’t necessarily want to admit it to herself at times – she _needed_ to have faith in the success of the ceremony. And then everything went perfectly well, apart from the little eight incident, but no matter how hard she wants to convince herself that things will be alright now, Clarke just can’t; at best, she only manages to fool herself (… and she actually did a great job with that during the last few hours). She can’t fully believe that her people becoming the thirteenth clan will be the end of it, that it’ll be enough: she’s been on the Ground for too long to still have the childish hope that one simple wave of a magic wand could fix everything.

So after the first flood of ‘we did it’ joyful thoughts, comes a much less reassuring ‘what now?’ that she can’t seem to force to go away. What if the Ice Queen already has a back-up plan ready? What if there’s something, anything, that they haven’t anticipated? What if—

In dire need of a distraction from her wandering thoughts, Clarke decides to start quizzing Lexa again, though she’s careful not to ask questions she might not want to know the answer of this time.

“So I suppose this is the place the sonkeryon are named after?”

Lexa, who had been looking at the Commander’s symbol but without really seeing it – lost in her thoughts as well –, turns her head back to Clarke. “Yes. Souls of the light, souls of the sun, because they might be granted its power – or so my people believe.”

“You never mentioned how they’re chosen.”

“When a teacher finds a child with promising overall abilities, they send them to the orphan school to be tested. If the child passes, they stay and enter the class.”

“So it’s only kids from Polis?”

“No, they can be from any Trikru village. And wherever a child comes from, they live in the orphanage if they become a sonkeryon. That is why their class is in that school specifically.”

“They’re taken from their homes?!”

“Many of us grow up without our parents, Clarke”, Lexa answers coldly, her eyes hardening. “It is a great honor to be a sonkeryon, and it requires focus.”

Okay. Diverging points of view, absolutely no desire to argue at the moment.

Clarke decides to stop asking questions altogether. The only thing it did was turn a pleasant trip into an awkward situation anyway.

“We should go back”, she sighs. “It’s starting to be dark.”

Lexa nods. “Follow me.”

Once they’re out the front door, they barely glance at the building again before they start weaving between the trunks, not looking at each other and talking even less. Only the sound of their steps fills the air, reminding Clarke of the months she spent alone in the forest.

This lasts less than five minutes before she decides she’s had enough. Since her people arrived, she’s had her fair share of tense silences already, and she’s _really_ growing tired of those.

She’s ending this one now.

She stops dead in her tracks, confusing Lexa who frowns at her.

“I don’t know what you think life was like on the Ark, but it was far from rainbows and unicorns”, Clarke asserts, incapable of making the burning image of her father getting floated go away from her mind as she talks. “I hated our laws and the lies that went with it. I’ve seen children grow up without their parents because of the most stupid reasons you could ever imagine. I’ve been imprisoned and isolated, then sent to the Earth like a lab rat with a hundred other kids because that’s just something they could decide to do. And you know what the worst part is? I’ve become like Jaha and the Council when we were on the Ark. I’ve lied, hidden truths, killed, sacrificed people. I had to. It doesn’t mean I’ll ever accept that ‘life is unforgiving’ and shit just happens, especially when there could have been another way. You could make the sonkeryons’ parents move to Polis – unless they really wouldn’t want to for one reason or another, of course –, and that’d be it. Why are the kids just taken from their homes?!”

“Their parents’ presence would be a distraction”, Lexa replies evenly.

Clarke chuckles humorlessly and shakes her head. “Because love is weakness, right?” she bites out, half-angry and half-saddened by the results of such a belief.

“Yes.”

“Well, see, I strongly disagree with that. Love can also be the greatest strength, and it actually is in most circumstances”, Clarke asserts then takes a deep breath. “I doubted that for a while, after Finn’s death, but not anymore. And I really think these kids would be better off with their parents.”

“Love is also a risk and a liability, one that you can’t afford as a Commander”, Lexa counters, though her voice is filled with sadness this time. “For a long time I refused to believe it, but I learned. It is better to be alone. The sonkeryon must understand that.”

“And I think you’re lying to yourself right now”, Clarke says, her eyes bored into Lexa’s ones. “You’re repeating something you’ve been taught, but I think – no, I _know_  – you don’t actually believe it.”

“And how would you know that?” Lexa retorts with a tinge of irony, though she is mostly defensive.

Clarke swallows hard and inhales slowly through her nose before answering; she has a singularly hard time pushing through her lips the simple word that will be worth any explanation, but she still doesn’t break eye contact. “Me”, she acknowledges quietly, in a voice that turns out soft when she intended it to be neutral.

Lexa visibly flinches and averts her eyes, but she doesn’t try to reply anything or to deny what Clarke is implying. The kiss they shared before going to war would have made any argumentation useless anyway, and it’s a fact they’re both acutely aware of.

Instead, she guides the conversation towards another subject once she manages to will herself to look at Clarke again. “You said your people imprisoned you?” she asks, curious. “What for?”

“Knowing truths they didn’t want to hear”, Clarke eludes. Though she is glad for the change of topic, she doesn’t want to talk about what got her in isolation. “We were all prisoners, all the kids and teenagers who arrived here first. Why waste your time asking for volunteers when you can just send people you’re going to kill anyway?” she spits out, bitter.

Lexa narrows her eyes. “You were going to be executed?”

“I’m ninety-nine percent sure I would have been killed the day I turned eighteen, yeah”, Clarke replies in a voice that she forces to be emotionless. “Welcome on the Ark.”

“Yet you spend your time saving them”, Lexa notes, though it sounds more like a half-incredulous question. “Your people.”

Clarke shrugs. “Yeah, I’m funny like that…”

Lexa stares at her for a while, silent, before a sad smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “You are a very selfless person, Clarke of the Sky People”, she whispers.

“You’d do exactly the same”, Clarke dismisses and shrugs again.

“Yes, but it is my duty”, Lexa points out.

Clarke sighs. “And I guess it’s who I am, for better or for worse…”

“You are Skaikru’s ambassador now”, Lexa remarks.

“Yeah, until someone fucks up again and I have to make it my job to limit the damage once more”, Clarke retorts cynically. She’s not sure who she trusts with the Coalition the less, in the end: Lexa or her people.

(It’s _definitely_ her people.)

(… Not that she really wants to admit that.)

And the more time goes by, the more a bad feeling creeps its way into her mind. She couldn’t tell why, couldn’t pinpoint what exactly melts away the last bits of relief the ceremony’s success had brought her, but she finds herself starting to expect the worst to happen again – as it _always_ does, even when they think they can claim victory.

She was right earlier, when she decided to enjoy the happiness she felt while she could: her positive thoughts definitely didn’t last.

“Then we will make sure this doesn’t happen”, Lexa says resolutely as she starts walking again, and it sounds somewhat like a promise – a promise that they _will_ make this new Coalition work despite the efforts it might require.

The conviction in Lexa’s voice almost makes Clarke believe that they’ll be able to avoid the next disastrous situations the universe decides to throw at them, if only for a little while.

She _almost_ gets some optimism back.

But the little while doesn’t last two hours.

 

* * *

 

_“Oh, god, no. This_ can’t _be happening”_ , Clarke thinks, closing her eyes, when she and Lexa step foot in the hall of the tower again. _“Not now. Not when the ceremony was only hours ago!”_ She’s way-too-aware that she sounds distressed and desperate even to her own mind.

The four guards of the ground floor, including the two in charge of the elevator, who were alive and well when they left around four hours ago, now lie in a pool of their own blood, their throats cut and their bodies carelessly thrown to the side. The scene doesn’t leave any room for doubt: they were executed.

By whom?

When?

Why?

_What the hell happened?_

She’s still rooted to the spot and incapable of fully accepting the reality of the scene when Lexa storms back out, barking orders in Trigedasleng that Clarke can’t make sense of at the moment. Seconds later, two warriors enter the hall with their Commander and go straight to the elevator’s mechanism to make it come down; finally able to get her feet to move again, Clarke follows Lexa and wordlessly steps next to her into the wooden cage. The Commander’s jaw is clenched tight and her eyes burn with barely contained rage but she’s controlled, while Clarke feels her own hands start to shake with fear.

They have no idea what they’ll find upstairs.

And she can’t stop imagining the worst.

Lexa draws her sword as soon as the elevator starts moving up, then stares into the dark corridors of the unused lower floors with her senses on high alert. She doesn’t allow herself to be distracted by the shouts she begins to hear when they reach the second half of the tower – the one where everyone resides –, or by the agitation when it starts happening in front of their eyes… or by Clarke shuddering next to her at the sight of the chaos, either. She needs to, _has_ to be fully focused on the exterior threat if she wants to assess the situation properly.

Lexa doesn’t stop the elevator until they reach the last floor: the most important one, the one with the throne room and where the Commander lives. The first she should logically check.

Titus is there in the corridor, pacing up and down and apparently waiting for them. “Heda”, he breathes out in relief as soon as he sees the Commander exit the elevator.

“What. Happened?!” Lexa demands, her words hissing as if they were arrows.

Titus gulps. “We were betrayed, Heda.”

“By _who_?”

He glances at Clarke with pure hatred in his eyes before looking back at Lexa, then takes a deep breath and grits his teeth as he spits out one single word.

“Skaikru.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Yu nou na min op.” = “You can’t enter.”  
> “Gyon op en spek daun gon Heda.” = “Rise up and bow to your Heda.”  
> “Kongeda” = “Coalition, Alliance”  
> “Kom jus, ai tai Trikru op gon kongeda.” = “In blood, I bind Trikru to the Coalition.”  
> “Kom Azgeda” = “From Azgeda”  
> “Spek daun gon Heda.” = “Bow to your Heda.”  
> “Heda memon!” = “The Commander’s symbol!”  
> “Em pleni!!” = “It’s enough!!”  
> “Shof op.” = “Be quiet.”  
> “Splita” = “Outsider”  
> \----------  
> (Oh, yeah, about that cliffhanger... We're really not sorry. We're just both sadists.)  
> (Co-author says I'm the sadistic one, she's only there when it comes to Carmilla.)  
> (I'll just answer that the miracle of us not bantering in the notes lasted six chapters, but it's well and truly over.)  
> (And we should probably stop now because it could easily go on for ten pages.)  
> (We just love digressing in brackets.)


	8. Part II - White: Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW:Blood / 'Graphic depictions of violence' applies.
> 
> Below are some apologies for the lateness… With bonus banter in []s. Like, lots of it. You've been warned!
> 
> EliaAlice:  
> Hey guys! No, we're not dead (well my Internet is, but I’m not), it’s just that wow, the past few months have been hectic. Sooo… Yeah, I had definitely, totally, completely jinxed it.  
> Basically, I went through the scary French election (I know my proud Belgian co-writer is gonna point out that she didn’t have to suffer through this, so I’m doing it in her stead already) [UHM UHM, yes, I’m a proud Belgian, yes, I didn’t technically suffer through this, but don’t be fooled, she made me suffer through it with her even though we already have our fair share of political shits in my country] [guilty as charged!], then I discovered that a professional conscience is annoying (3 weeks working until 2am to be done with my work before the end of my short-term 1st job… why are you like this @self) [she also discovered that using scripts to automate some tasks was really helpful, but it’s not like I’ve been telling her so for more than a year] [I DIDN’T HAVE TIME TO LEARN PYTHON FOR MY DEADLINE IN A WEEK WHEN YOU TOLD ME THAT, I WAS DOING JUST FINE WITH VBA OKAY], then I moved places, and then my Internet just straight up DIED. I can’t write without it because I’m a synonym whore so yaaay (*cries*) I’ve been available to write for a whole damn month BUT I COULDN’T BECAUSE IT WAS ONLY WORKING FOR 1H A DAY AT BEST (*cries harder*) (it’s honestly un-fucking-bearable).  
> Note that it’s only half-back alive now (IT JUST DIED AGAIN WHILE I WAS TYPING THIS OH MY GOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME *DEEP BREATHS*); I’m arm-wrestling with my ISP to make it work properly again but I have no idea how long it’ll take. So beware, the next update might be in quite a while again… Sorry guys, blame this stupid thing called optical fiber T_T [Meanwhile, my street is literally in the middle of nowhere and my Internet is stable and reasonably fast without optical fiber :3] [SHHH I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE TOO AND IT WORKED WONDERS TOO…… until it didn’t…]
> 
> Oaz:  
> Heeeey, surprise, we are ALIVE (are we though? I’m still checking and not really sure). I know we haven’t posted in like 3 years [3.5 months, actually], and I’m really sorry about that. However, I’d like to say that if someone *coughs*EliaAlice*coughs* hadn’t been a little too optimistic about the update schedule, we probably would have updated way sooner (but not really, life is a bitch).  
> ANYWAY. We feel like we owe all 5 of you an explanation as to why we disappeared. Long story short, she’s insane and I had a lot of work to do. That is, finishing my master thesis (and not to brag or anything, but I nailed it) (okay I’m bragging but I suffered from October until June for this shit so I think I’m entitled to some bragging) [and I proofread the whole thing so I can confirm she’s entitled to some bragging!]. I’m currently enjoying the last real holidays of my life because I start working in September (pray for my soul). And for me, enjoying holidays means basically doing nothing, just watching YouTube and TV, resting my brain, you know (or not, but believe me, it’s amazing after 5 years of university).  
> ANYWAY², I’m not the main writer, she is, I mostly just help for the plot, the Carmilla parts (for those of you wondering, almost all of Carm’s lines are mine, and everything else is hers), rereading, pestering her by mocking every typo she makes [on Google Drive where she sees all of them, IT’S A LOT ¬¬], pestering her by creating typos in what she writes, making up songs for each chapter, etc (basically, a lot of productive things) [don't listen, she's also the best to keep me motivated, writing without her is much harder]. So yeah, I wasn’t as available as I could have been, but she’s the one to blame, people, and I brought pebbles if you want to help me throw some at her :D Just kidding, I brought bricks. [See what I put up with??? :(] [You’ve literally been screaming at me in these comments, please, I’m clearly the victim] [My love for capslock isn’t new, aren’t you used to it by now?? :D] [No, it hurts every time] [*sighs*]  
> ANYWAY³, we are really sorry, regardless of who’s to blame (but we all know who). Again, sorry for the long wait, but rest assured that we DO intend to finish this fic, even if it’ll probably take 10 years, we love this story and these characters way too much.  
> (Can you see why it takes us a long time to write anything?) (This was supposed to be short) [HEY YOU’RE THE ONE WHO SAID TO KEEP IT SHORT THEN WROTE A FRIGGIN’ NEWSPAPER] (But please, enjoy this Carm-less chapter, I obviously didn’t) (Fun fact, I think her Internet actually died while writing this) [IT DID OB-FUCKING-VIOUSLY]  
> \----------  
> “The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.” - H.P. Lovecraft

“Explain yourself”, Lexa orders Titus.

“Where are they?!” Clarke asks at the same time, on the verge of panic. “Where are my people?!”

“The girl who had your symbol escaped, Heda”, Titus answers without acknowledging he’s heard Clarke in any way. “She killed several guards with an explosion about half an hour ago. I did my best to try to find her but so far without success, and since the elevator was unusable and blocking the way down to the first floor with the ladder…” he trails off, wringing his hands nervously.

“ _Escaped_?!” Clarke repeats, desperately trying to understand what happened. “From where?! What did you do to Raven??? Where are my friends? WHERE’S MY MOM?!” she shouts, her state of panic increasing as worse scenario after worse scenario pops up in her mind.

“Heda, I do not think—”

“Answer her”, Lexa demands after glancing at Clarke – Clarke who’s clearly terrified to the point she might actually try to pry an explanation out of Titus using her hands (or her knife, even) and brute force somewhere in the near future, an attempt which obviously wouldn’t end well for anybody. “Now”, Lexa adds, hissing, when he hesitates.

“They’re in prison, Heda”, Titus admits, clearly uncomfortable. “They are all unharmed apart from the one who escaped; I have no idea about her, but that is hardly our concern. She created an explosion to get out of her cell and killed every guard on the prison floor. We have been betrayed by Skaikru already”, he finishes, seething.

Clarke shakes her head almost frantically. “Raven would never do that. There’s been a mistake!”

“Why is the entire Skaikru delegation in prison?” Lexa interrogates, her voice dangerously low.

Titus gulps in discomfort. “There was a situation, Heda, and I didn’t know where you had gone, and…”

The Commander’s hand tightens its grip on her sword’s hilt.

“Explain. From the beginning. Before I lose my patience”, Lexa warns as she turns away and steps back inside the elevator.

“Where are you going?” Clarke worries.

She’s trying her best to hold herself together, but she’s honestly not far from losing it entirely – though knowing that everyone except Raven is fine did bring her some relief. She needs Lexa’s cold-headed presence to help her make sense of the situation, to ask the rational questions that she can’t find in her own mind right now; being left alone, on the other hand, sounds like a nightmare at the moment.

“To get your people out of prison”, Lexa replies without an ounce of hesitation. “Then to understand what happened with Raven exactly. Follow me. And Titus? Start. _Talking_ ”, she orders, and there’s a threat barely hidden in her voice.

“Yes, Heda”, he blurts as he steps into the elevator, a second before Clarke.

Lexa pulls on a rope to signal they’re ready to go down, and the cage starts moving almost immediately.

“After you left, several people who attended the ceremony came back because they were as worried about the… the box with your symbol as I was. They thought it was a threat worth reassessing and they wanted an audience with you. I didn’t know where you were, so I sent them away. But a second wave came, and a third afterwards; leaders and ambassadors among them, this time. You still weren’t back and the situation was becoming tense, so I—” Titus stops and swallows with difficulty as they reach the floor hosting the temporary prison of the tower.

Several guards are posted there and nod respectfully when they see their Commander, but Lexa ignores them and strides along the corridor. “So you had everyone from Skaikru imprisoned without any proof or my approval?” she finishes harshly in Titus’s stead as he and Clarke follow her.

“Yes, Heda”, he confirms, nodding and trying his best to sound contrite. “As a preventive measure. But I was right to have my doubts, seeing how the situation evolved”, he adds, trying to defend himself.

“Did you miss the part of the ceremony when I said Skaikru are to be treated like any other clan now?” Lexa hisses. “ _You_ are the one who betrayed _them_ , Titus. As for what happened afterwards, I do not trust your judgment anymore and I will not draw any conclusion until I have seen the scene myself.”

Just as she says this, they round a corner and the cells appear in their field of view. Titus, deathly pale because of the Commander’s words, stays several steps behind Clarke and Lexa as they take in the scene.

The corridor looks like the aftermath of a battlefield once the bodies have been removed – and that’s what it is, really. There are blood sprays on the walls and on the floor, as well as some other stains and even some bits that Clarke prefers not to try to identify. The door of the second cell on the left was quite obviously blown up, though the explosion must not have been too intense: the surrounding walls are still intact despite bearing the marks of the blast. As for the remains of the wooden door, they can be seen through the frame; some shards are even embedded in the mattress of the small bed that makes up half of the furniture of the cell, the other half being a large bench set under the only window.

Guards who are very much alive stand there in the corridor with their senses on high alert – they were probably ordered to replace their unfortunately deceased colleagues by Titus –, while the bodies of the ones who were killed were apparently dragged into an unoccupied cell to clear some space. It doesn’t really lessen the horror of the scene, though.

Without turning around to look at Titus, the Commander asks him: “You’re saying Raven is responsible for this?”

Her voice is even but her jaw is set, and contrasting with her impassible mask is the promise of death for whoever caused this destruction that dances in her eyes.

“Yes, Heda. She used Skaikru’s technology to destroy the door with an explosion and escape”, Titus confirms. “How the rest happened is still unclear so far.”

“That’s impossible”, Clarke cuts in; she’s having a hard time snapping herself out of the state of panic and bewilderment that the last few minutes put her in, but her brain is slowly starting to work again. “Raven couldn’t have blown up that door herself, it’s basic physics. I’ll explain, but before I do, let my people out of these cells. Now. They didn’t do anything.”

Free everyone first, worry about the fact that Raven is missing right afterwards.

“Heda, I don’t think—” Titus starts to say, but Lexa ignores him entirely.

“Breik emo au”, she orders the guards, who obey immediately.

In a matter of seconds, keys turn into locks and doors open on faces oscillating between confusion, anger and fear.

“Mom”, Clarke breathes out when she spots Abby, standing in the middle of the cell two doors at the right of the one that once held Raven. Relief floods through her veins as she gets the confirmation that her mom is, indeed, unharmed, and she rushes forward to hug her before she even realizes her feet are moving.

A guard motions to prevent her from entering the cell, but Lexa lifts a hand and he stops immediately. The action lasts a split second; too focused on her mom, Clarke doesn’t even see any of it.

“I did think I heard your voice through the door”, Abby whispers as she holds her daughter tight. “Are you alright? What is happening?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Lexa and I only just came back. You should have never been imprisoned to begin with”, Clarke replies with anger – fully directed at Titus – in her voice. She then turns around and gets back out of the cell, Abby on her heels.

“Came back? From where?”

“It doesn’t matter. There are bigger issues right now. You probably—”

She’s interrupted by Bellamy’s voice.

“Where’s Raven?!” he asks, alarmed.

Octavia and him are standing side by side, looking around them; the relief of seeing they’re both safe and sound is quickly disappearing from their faces as they realize Raven is, on the other hand, missing.

“We don’t know”, Clarke admits, swallowing thickly. She wants to wake up or to disappear from the world while someone else figures out what’s going on, but she knows that’s a luxury she doesn’t have.

Because if Raven didn’t escape – and there’s _no way_ Raven is responsible for this –, then it means she’s been abducted. Which also means that time is running against them; they need to figure out where she is and who caused this whole mess _fast_.

Except efficient decision-making during a crisis is neither Abby’s nor Kane’s forte, if experience has taught Clarke anything, so she’s the one who has to step up now. Exactly like she feared she would need to.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?!” Bellamy almost shouts. “She was imprisoned like the rest of us!”

“Was she in that cell?” Octavia asks, pointing at the traces of the explosion with her chin. She looks and sounds calmer than her brother, but her tightened fists send another message entirely.

“Yes, from which she escaped”, Titus spits out.

“No, she didn’t!” Clarke retorts, her tone icy. She’s done with the advisor’s accusations and done playing nice. “If she was responsible for the explosion, the door would have been blasted _out_ of the cell, not _inside_. Someone else put a small bomb in the corridor, she has nothing to do with any of this. I have no idea who blew up that door or why they took Raven, but that’s what we need to focus on and figure out – _now_. Stop talking about things you don’t understand; she’s not responsible for this mess, she’s in _danger_!!”

“So that’s what it was”, Kane chimes in, his mind connecting dots and piecing facts together. “The cells are quite sound-proof so I didn’t hear much apart from the explosion – I don’t think anyone did – but I believe there was a struggle before the blast, and the amount of blood here tends to indicate I’m right. I didn’t know what had exploded until now since no one answered our shouts afterwards, but…” He stops and turns to Lexa. “Commander, what’s going on? We were detained without an explanation, and now this?”

“My advisor made a grave error of judgment, something which will _never_ happen again”, Lexa assures.

Ten feet behind her, Titus feels a cold shiver run down his spine, but he manages not to lose his countenance.

“I apologize for the imprisonment”, Lexa continues. “As for Raven’s whereabouts, I am trying to understand what happened just as much as you do. Titus believes she escaped, but if Clarke is right and the explosion didn’t originate from inside the cell, then it is impossible.”

Convinced that his theory is valid and that the Arkers are manipulating Lexa, Titus finds the courage to step forward and speak again. “It is not impossible, Heda. It only means she had one or several accomplices who killed the guards before helping her escape. In fact, this scenario is more likely to have happened than what I originally thought. One girl couldn’t have done all of this by herself.”

“WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?!” Bellamy yells frankly this time, rushing forward with the intention of shoving Titus back and only stopping himself a split second before touching him. He ends up right in his personal space, though, and barely takes a step back when a knife materializes in the advisor’s hand.

“Put this away immediately”, Lexa orders; Titus obeys reluctantly, making the weapon slide back into his sleeve.

Despite the scene going on, the guards in the corridor keep looking straight ahead. Truth be told, they could as well have been statues given their lack of acknowledgement of the argument.

“Bellamy, we’re all trying to find Raven. Fighting won’t help”, Clarke says in a voice that she hopes she manages to make calming, despite still running on adrenaline and fear herself.

“Accusing her won’t either”, Bellamy answers through gritted teeth, not backing down. “This guy doesn’t even have proof. He’s making assumptions because it’s clear that he hates us, so _of course_ he won’t admit _Grounders_ are responsible for this!”

“And _you_ are too blinded to see the obvious”, Titus retorts, moving around Bellamy and pointing at the marks of the explosion. “ _We_ do not have this kind of technology. Only _Skaikru_ does! This is why I was worried about the box with your symbol, Heda”, he adds, turning back towards the Commander. “We did not have any proof that recording sounds is the only thing it was created for. It might even be what caused this explosion!”

Lexa narrows her eyes, tilts her head and stares at Clarke. “He does have a point”, she says coldly. “This is your technology. Not ours.”

“No. Lexa, _no_ , this is _not_ our doing, I swear”, Clarke promises. “And why would we destroy our only recording of the ceremony?! It wouldn’t make any sense!”

“That’s not the only thing that makes no sense”, Bellamy adds, even more furious than he was a minute ago. “We weren’t supposed to be put in prison. No one anticipated that. How could Raven have planned an escape from a place she _wasn’t supposed to be in_?! And if – for whatever crazy reason this guy has in mind – she had wanted to leave, so could have done so easily right after the ceremony: when she was in her room and not IN A DAMN CELL!!”

“Not to mention Raven would have nothing to gain from this mess”, Octavia states. “Plus, the only thing she wanted to do after the three-day-long trip to get here was sit down somewhere and not move for a while. Her legs were hurting, and—”

“Why didn’t she tell me?!” Abby asks.

“Now’s really not the time for this”, Octavia retorts, glaring. “Raven just wanted to get some rest, I’m pretty damn sure escaping a prison to go God-knows-where in freaking Polis wasn’t part of her plans! Let’s also not forget that she doesn’t exactly hold Grounders dear to her heart, so his theory that she could have ‘accomplices’?” Octavia continues, pointing to Titus with her hand. “Yeah. No. Certainly not.”

“Unless her accomplices were Skaikru”, the advisor argues. “I made the mistake of not having your guards imprisoned as well because they didn’t attend the ceremony so I assumed they had no link to the, uh, recorder and they weren’t a threat… I certainly regret this error of judgment now.”

“Our guards?” Clarke asks, frowning.

“The ones who accompanied us from Arkadia to Polis, I suppose”, Kane answers.

“Arkadia?” Clarke questions again, confused.

“Camp Jaha was renamed while you weren’t there”, Kane explains. “It’s called Arkadia now.”

Clarke continues her interrogation. “Okay, so where are these guards exactly?”

“Are they still in their rooms?” Lexa asks Titus, cutting in the conversation she voluntarily tries not to intervene in if she doesn’t need to. Being the Commander and having Skaikru as a clan now means that she can’t take a side before they get an accurate enough idea of what happened, so she listens to everyone’s arguments without weighing in too much on them.

“I don’t know, Heda”, Titus admits. “In the chaos that the girl’s escape caused, it didn’t occur to me to go check on them. I came here because I immediately guessed where the explosion originated from, then I assessed the situation, and finally I went back upstairs to wait for you to come back. Nobody could get out of the tower since the elevator was blocking the way, so I figured…” he trails off.

“Wait”, Abby frowns. “Then how did you get down here if the elevator wasn’t working? I thought the stairs were crumbled!!!”

“They are”, Lexa confirms. “But there is a ladder in the elevator’s shaft in case of an emergency.” Turning towards the guards, she adds: “Dig au weron Skaikru gona kamp raun.”

“Probably in their rooms”, Octavia shoots back. “I’m going with them. It won’t take long.”

“If you wish”, Lexa nods, though she clearly didn’t expect Octavia to understand her sentence.

She then waits until they all leave before asking Titus a question.

“Where was the elevator stopped?”

“Around the tenth floor, Heda.”

“Just above the three-floor gap in the stairs, then.”

“Yes”, Titus confirms, though he doesn’t really need to.

“That’s too awfully convenient to be a coincidence”, Clarke points out. “Whoever is responsible for this knew how to make sure they wouldn’t be followed for a while. And none of my people have been here long enough to have had access to that kind of information.”

“Maybe. But you are still the only ones who know how to do _this_ ”, the advisor retorts, his index finger indicating the blown-up door.

Clarke sighs deeply. Titus annoys and angers her a great deal, but she knows she needs to control herself if she wants to convince Lexa that Raven is innocent.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe you”, she starts to say, but she’s interrupted by Bellamy.

“Are you serious right now, Clarke?!” he exclaims, his eyes wide and his hands balled into fists.

“I don’t _actually_ believe it”, Clarke hisses, “but we’re losing time, so the sooner we clear Raven, the sooner we can all start to focus on _finding her_. Now let me handle this, okay??”

Bellamy doesn’t answer and only tightens his fists in response; clearly very tense, he clenches his jaw and starts pacing up and down in the corridor to calm his nerves a little. Having to constantly avoid stepping in a pool of blood or another makes it rather impossible to walk quickly, though.

“Alright”, Clarke resumes. “Let’s say Raven escaped. One question: _why_?”

Titus thinks for a second before replying. “She is the one who was supposed to disarm the Mountain, correct?”

“Yes”, Kane confirms. “I asked her this morning and she agreed. She didn’t particularly like the idea but she said she didn’t want to risk anyone else ‘screwing everything up in there’, so she’d do it.”

“And if she doesn’t go to the Mountain, then the missiles will stay ready for use for a much longer time”, Titus remarks as he turns to Lexa. “Heda, I am certain this is why she escaped”, he adds. “Skaikru want to start a war. And if they were to have unlimited access to the Mountain and its defenses, I believe the odds would not be in our favor.”

“If we wanted to start a war, we just wouldn’t have agreed to the thirteenth clan plan”, Clarke bites out, exasperated.

“So she is acting alone, or at least with people other than you”, Titus argues, standing his ground.

“Why didn’t she leave right after Kane asked her to go to Mount Weather, then?” Clarke retorts. “She wasn’t supposed to be imprisoned, which means she couldn’t have planned this. And if she wanted to start a conflict, the easiest way would have been to bomb _the ceremony_. Not that I can think of any reason why Raven would want another war anyway. Absolutely nothing adds up in your theory!”

“I think she still holds the Grounders responsible for Finn’s death”, Kane remarks cautiously. He’d hate it if Raven were indeed behind the massacre, but as the Chancellor, he can’t dismiss the theory until it’s been thoroughly proven wrong.

“Yeah, and I don’t think she’ll ever stop, but she’s too smart to do something as stupid as what Titus is accusing her of”, Clarke guarantees. “I’m absolutely certain Raven is innocent. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s wrongly accused anyway… So you know what, I’m going to apply the same logic than what happened with Gustus to this situation”, Clarke continues as she turns to Lexa, the mention of Finn having shed a new light on the events of the afternoon and given her an idea. “Gustus framed Raven for the attempt on your life, Commander. He planted the evidence he used to accuse her because _he_ had a problem with us and wanted to break the alliance. So let’s consider this: who’s been hell-bent on his position that Raven is responsible for the explosion? Who didn’t make it a secret that he greatly dislikes us and the very concept of the new Coalition? Who knows where the stairs of this tower are crumbled? Oh, and let’s not forget: who imprisoned my people to begin with? Who could have staged all of this easily?”

The more Clarke thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Titus had both motive and opportunity – two factors that tend to strongly indicate guilt, and that definitely make him the best culprit she can think of at the moment.

“This… This is OUTRAGEOUS”, Titus shouts, his whole body shaking with anger. “These accusations are— are— They are RIDICULOUS!! Only _Skaikru_ could be responsible for the explosion!”

“He’s the guy who knows how to read English, right?” Clarke asks Lexa for confirmation, which she gets in the form of a sharp nod. “So if a Grounder knows how to make a small bomb, that’s gotta be him”, she pushes.

“Starting a war while your people can still gain control of the Mountain’s defenses seems ill-advised”, Lexa notes.

“Heda, you cannot seriously be considering that I could—” Titus chokes out.

“Shof op”, Lexa growls coldly before he can finish his sentence.

Not daring defy a direct order from the Commander, Titus shuts his mouth despite his desire to defend himself.

“If he thinks he’s smart enough to use Mount Weather’s missiles himself, removing Raven from the equation buys him time to figure things out”, Clarke argues. “With those weapons, he could wipe _my people_ out, and he could do so even more easily if he managed to get us all imprisoned in Polis so we couldn’t warn those who stay at our camp about the beginning of a war.”

She takes deep breaths once she’s done talking, trying by all means to keep her emotions in check and not to break down in the middle of the corridor without warning. She’s nervously exhausted, Raven’s disappearance feels like one of her nightmares took over reality, and now they’re discussing killing people by using Mount Weather’s weapons on top of everything else.

This conversation is making her sick to the point she almost wants to throw up.

“It is plausible”, Lexa says slowly, though it’s clear she wants to consider the idea of Titus betraying her about as much as she liked discovering that Gustus had poisoned the cups and framed the Arkers – framed Raven, more precisely.

Clarke doesn’t get to push her advantage because Octavia and the guards come back just then. They’re followed by three people who Clarke recognizes from the Ark, though she couldn’t say their names. She assumes they’re the ones who escorted the peace delegation to Polis.

“Where’s Alex?” Kane asks, worry obvious in his voice, before anyone else has time to speak.

“Dead”, Octavia whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“W— What happened?”

“I was sitting on my bed“, one of the Arkers starts explaining, “and I heard noise in the corridor. After you were arrested, all four of us were ordered to stay in our rooms; the guards in front of the doors were supposed to make sure we couldn’t get past them even if we attempted to. And they followed orders strictly – I should know, since I tried to ask them what was going on after… what was apparently an explosion”, he continues, staring at the blown-up door. “And I got shoved back inside roughly. So when I heard noise outside, I didn’t move at first, but then I decided I should at least check if something was wrong… Maybe we could have somehow gotten out and come free you, at least I hoped, but—”

He stops and swallows thickly.

“The guards were dead. All of them – even those who were still in front of your rooms though they were empty. It was a bloodbath. Actually… it looked a little like the corridor we’re currently in, but with the bodies in addition to the rest. I figured what I heard was a fight, and I didn’t know if the people who executed – there’s no other word – the guards were still there, so I decided I’d just get Spencer, Tim and Alex and we’d try to find the prison. The first room I went to was Alex’s because it was right next to mine; the door was already open, and I didn’t need to step inside to see that his throat had been sliced open…”

He looks away and takes a deep breath before he continues: “Thankfully, I found Spencer and Tim still alive in their rooms. We split and searched the whole floor, but the killers had left already. We wanted to go after them but the elevator wasn’t responding and we didn’t know if the ladder we eventually spotted was safe or not since the stairs aren’t… So we stayed in a room, ready to fight if the people responsible for Alex’s death came back at some point. We didn’t move until Octavia and the others arrived a few minutes ago. And we almost attacked them, actually”, he admits.

“ _Clearly_ Raven escaped and they were her accomplices”, Octavia sasses aggressively as she stares Titus down. “Makes perfect sense. Can we move on now and actually try to find who the hell took her?!”

Titus turns to Lexa and lets out one last argument, though he feels like the situation has totally slipped out of his control already. “Heda, we conveniently cannot verify their story. They could have killed everybody themselves, then help the girl escape, and we would have no way of knowing for sure.”

“Including our friend?!” another one of the Arkers – so either Spencer or Tim – snaps. “Is this guy crazy?!”

“If he disagreed with your plan, yes, I believe you could have killed him”, Titus retorts, still holding his ground.

“Oh, I will—” the first Arker starts to say, but he’s cut off by Octavia who grabs his arm just as he launches forward.

“Don’t bother, Evan”, she advises. “He’s not worth it.”

“That is enough, Titus”, Lexa growls at the same time. “I am inclined to believe Skaikru when they assert this is not a break-out. Many of their arguments are valid. You, however, are responsible for imprisoning them without motive; whether you are guilty or not as Clarke suggests remains to be determined, but you can refrain from voicing your opinions from now on. I will _not_ hear another one of your baseless accusations today. Am I making myself clear?” she asks, her voice dangerously low and cold – as it tends to get when she’s really pissed off.

Even though he takes a step back as if he’d been physically hit and grows paler than pale, Titus manages to stutter “yes, Heda” as an answer before he shuts up entirely.

“There’s something else you’re not gonna like, Clarke”, Octavia sighs. “I went to check, the recorder’s been taken. It’s not where Raven had put it before we were thrown in prison, or anywhere else in our room. Personal theory? Whoever abducted Raven went after the device too, and they killed absolutely everyone in their way because they didn’t want anyone to be able to identify them”, she croaks, visibly upset. It doesn’t surprise Clarke: Octavia has always been the kind of person who wants to save everyone and gets easily upset when innocent lives are taken. “I think Alex was collateral damage. They must have gone into the wrong room before finding mine and Raven’s. Bastards!”

“The recording of the ceremony is in no way a threat to my people, it’s rather the contrary”, Clarke points out to Lexa. “Just in case you need one more reason to be convinced that Raven is not the one behind all of this. She’s been abducted, which is probably a set-up that _Titus_ orchestrated”, she continues, turning towards him, “so WHERE THE HELL IS SHE?!”

“I swear, Heda, I am in no way responsible for this”, Titus assures, sweating profusely. “I do not know where the girl is.”

“We will see about that”, Lexa answers. “Sis em op en goch em op”, she then orders the Grounder guards, who were still standing next to Octavia up until that point.

Titus, defeated and probably unwilling to be led away like a prisoner, decides to follow the guards on his own rather than wait for them to force him to move. He takes the time to look at Clarke one last time before they leave, though, long enough for her to notice that unrestrained fury has been added to the pure hatred in his gaze.

Ignoring that fact – and, actually, him entirely –, she addresses the Commander again. “Where are they taking him?”

“Upstairs in the throne room, like any other person I would decide to interrogate. I doubt he is directly responsible for Raven’s disappearance, but he may know something that would help us find her. I will also ask the people of Polis for information; maybe someone spotted her leaving the tower or walking in the streets. Now, until I know more, there is nothing any of you can do. Rest assured I will do everything in my power to discover who took her and why”, Lexa promises, and the flame burning in her eyes doesn’t leave any room for doubt: whoever massacred the guards will see their lifespan decrease dramatically as soon as she gets their name. Turning towards Abby, Kane and Bellamy, she then adds: “But first, I will personally show you to new rooms on another floor than the one you previously stayed on. I apologize again for Titus’s decision to imprison you, which he made without consulting me in any way; know that I would have never given my consent. This is an incident that should never happen again. Now follow me, please.”

Behind Lexa, Octavia snorts with disbelief. “You really expect us to sit by and do nothing when our friend is missing?! Better yet, to trust _you_ to search for her? Yeah, not gonna happen!”

“And what do you wish to do?” Lexa retorts as she turns around, clearly making an effort to answer calmly. “How can you help Raven at the moment? By wandering the streets aimlessly while calling her name? She might not even be in Polis anymore by now. The best you can do for her tonight is to get some sleep: a well-rested warrior is twice as efficient as an exhausted one, and not sleeping while you can is foolish.”

Octavia’s eyes flash with anger, but she has to admit Lexa has a point. They have absolutely no clue where Raven might be, and their only lead so far is that Titus might have something to do with this whole mess.

In other words: it’s really not much.

“We are coming, Commander”, Kane says as he pushes himself from the wall he was leaning against.

He’s been looking disheartened since he learned about Alex’s death, which Clarke supposes is because they were friends – though she couldn’t say with certainty since she didn’t know the guy –; in any case, he looks tired and saddened.

Abby follows Kane without a word, catching up with Octavia, Evan, Spencer and Tim; they all walk towards the elevator then, Lexa leading the way. Bellamy, on the other hand, stays behind, determined to have a little chat with Clarke.

“Are you going to just trust Lexa with finding Raven?” he asks through gritted teeth. “After everything that happened? Are you serious?!”

“No, I don’t trust her, and I really wish everyone would stop asking me that question”, Clarke sighs tiredly. “But I know her. She lost something like twenty warriors today. She wants to find who murdered them about as much as we want Raven back. I believe her when she says she’ll do her best, and I’m sure she’ll tell us as soon as she finds something.”

Bellamy shakes his head. “Unless revealing that particular piece of information puts her at risk politically. Come on, Clarke, she can’t possibly have messed with your head to the point you can’t see that!”

“If she looks like she’s holding something back or just shady in any way, I’ll step in”, Clarke promises. “For now, she’s right when she says there’s nothing we can do. Let’s go”, she adds as she starts walking away to cut the conversation short. She’s on the verge of breaking down, and she’d rather be alone when that happens.

 

* * *

 

Clarke stays alone in the elevator as the others step out to go to their new bedrooms, led by Lexa, and she takes deep breaths until she finally reaches the last floor. The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving in its wake only a mix of fear and misery that makes her chest feel too tight; she’s aware of how much of a mess she is at the moment, but she’s trying to keep appearing strong until there’s no one left to see her and she can just stop caring about how she presents.

She walks to her room in a haze, ignores the guards entirely as she opens the door then closes it behind her, and collapses on her bed as the first tears, held back for too long, finally slip free. She doesn’t even know what she feels exactly anymore, she’s just aware that she’s breaking down; too many thoughts swirl in her mind, and none of them are even remotely joyful.

What if they don’t figure out who took Raven soon?

What if they can’t find her before something happens to her?

And why, _why_ was the respite after the ceremony so short-lived?

Clarke squeezes her stinging eyes tightly closed in an attempt to shut out the world – attempt that is unfortunately, though quite obviously, hopeless.

Her time in Polis had improved her mental health a little, allowing her to feel a semblance of fine from time to time, but at the moment she feels like she’s back in the woods: drowning in her own feelings and wishing her mind would just shut up for once. Memories she can’t keep at bay anymore come back to haunt her again – the ring of fire at the dropship, Finn’s death, TonDC, Mount Weather… everything.

As if running the worst scenarios of what could happen to Raven if they don’t locate her quickly wasn’t torture enough, she gets all the memories at once as a bonus.

Amazing.

Clarke curls up on the furs and lets her face sink in the nearest pillow as she sobs uncontrollably, totally not caring about the fact that she’s still wearing war paint which will undoubtedly leave marks on the fabric.

Everything was supposed to go well, at least for a little while, after the ceremony.

This was never supposed to happen.

It’s a nightmare.

The Ground is a nightmare. Her life is a nightmare.

She wants to wake up.

She knows she won’t be that lucky.

*

Clarke realizes she’s totally lost track of time when someone knocks on her door. She couldn’t tell for how long she’s been crying but she has a vague idea what she might look like at the moment, and it’s more than enough for her to know that she doesn’t want anyone to see her right now – not to mention that she doesn’t want to see anyone either. So she settles for staying mute; if she’s lucky enough, whoever just knocked will go away without insisting too much when they realize she won’t answer. They’ll just assume she’s fallen asleep or something and come back the next day.

Right?

As the door opens, Clarke’s hopes vanish entirely. Only one person could move past the guards in front of the room, and that person is the one who put them here in the first place.

The Commander.

_Of course_ it had to be her.

Clarke doesn’t move an inch as Lexa walks to the bed, keeping her eyes firmly shut and her face buried deep in the pillow. Maybe if she pretends she’s not awake, that will be enough to make the Commander leave?

But naturally, no, that’s not what happens.

(Which might be because the irregular heaving of Clarke’s chest due to her soundless sobs kind of gives the trick away…)

“I understand how hard today has been for you”, Lexa whispers, and Clarke can’t pinpoint where her voice is coming from exactly.

She’d also laugh at the statement if it were coming from anyone else, but Lexa might be the only one who actually _does_ understand – well, at least partially. If it were entirely the case, Clarke would still be alone right now.

(Except maybe she doesn’t really want to be alone with her demons.)

(And maybe Lexa is aware of that more than Clarke herself.)

“I _will_ find whoever abducted Raven”, the Commander assures. “You have my word.”

“What if it’s too late?”

It takes Clarke a second to register that she said the words out loud. She didn’t mean to.

“There are promises I cannot make”, Lexa admits quietly.

“We can’t lose her”, Clarke blurts out between two sobs as she turns her head to get her face out of the pillow.

She’s surprised to find Lexa at eye level with her; she wasn’t expecting the Commander to be sitting on her heels next to the bed, she had rather pictured her standing somewhere farther away.

She wasn’t expecting the intensity of Lexa’s gaze and the pained expression on her face either – or the half-raised hand reaching out to offer comfort that moves back down as soon as she spots it, for that matter.

“Clarke”, Lexa murmurs, shaking her head softly.

There is so much understanding in her eyes; so much care, too, and Clarke can’t take it. She presses her lids shut once more as a fresh new wave of tears slip free and she croaks: “Raven is one of the best of us. We’d all have died a long time ago if it wasn’t for her… Whoever took her— She’s been through so much already, it’s not fair this is happening to her, it’s—” Clarke pauses and takes a shaky breath. “We _have_ to get her back, do you understand??” she nearly screams in a whisper, opening her eyes and drilling them into the Commander’s again.

Holding her gaze, Lexa nods once, slowly, but otherwise doesn’t answer.

“I’m a mess”, Clarke hiccups. Her voice is barely a murmur, but the silence in the room makes it clearly audible. “I don’t know how— If I can—”

She shouldn’t be admitting this to Lexa. She shouldn’t let her guard down like that in front of her; she knows she shouldn’t, but she does it anyway. There’s no one else she can talk to that won’t judge, won’t ask any questions, won’t tell any ‘reassuring’ lies.

“I know you, Clarke. Despite what you are feeling tonight, tomorrow you will be strong, because Raven needs you to”, Lexa replies softly but with conviction.

Ignoring that statement, Clarke opts for a change of subject and tries to focus on the main issue rather than on herself. “Why did you come here? Did Titus say something important?” she asks, though she can’t find it in herself to be even a tad hopeful.

“I didn’t speak to him yet. I showed your people to their new rooms only minutes ago.”

Oh.

Clarke thought she had been crying for much longer than that, but apparently not.

She wipes her tears and frowns as she pushes herself upright in a sitting position, trying not to imagine exactly how dishevelled she looks at the moment. “Then why are you here?”

Lexa stares up at her for a while before saying, her voice gentle: “What happened today is not your fault.”

Clarke’s whole body stills as she sucks in a breath. The truth is, she _does_ blame herself, but she didn’t even realize it.

If Raven got abducted because of the recorder? Then it’s on her. Why the Commander wasn’t in the tower when Titus decided to imprison her people? It’s on her too.

(On another note, since when does Lexa read her better than she reads herself?)

(And how comes that fact doesn’t bother her like it once would have?)

“It kind of is”, Clarke breathes out. “If I hadn’t—”

Lexa cuts her off before she can finish her sentence. “You cannot control everything, Clarke, nor can you predict the future. No one can”, she points out as she gets up then sits down on the bed as well. “Blaming yourself for events you are not responsible for will help no one.”

Clarke closes her eyes and draws in yet another shuddering breath instead of acknowledging the Commander’s words. She’s having a hard time accepting the truth in them, but they do help her clear her head a little – which is already quite a lot of progress given her current state of mind.

What she’s less good at trying to ignore is the closeness of Lexa’s body, radiating heat and strength right next to her. It makes her crave contact and comfort though she refuses to seek any of it; Bellamy’s words are still ringing clearly in her head, reminding her of how dangerous a game she is playing by letting Lexa in a bit too close (way too close already, actually), and she forces herself to keep her body in check.

She _has_ to think about politics despite needing personal relief, even more so now that she doesn’t have the recording of the ceremony available as a fail-safe anymore.

It doesn’t matter how soothing the Commander’s presence is. She just can’t rely on that feeling, in spite of how much she wants to. In spite of how easily she would give in and melt into the physical contact if it was offered to her.

She’s too exhausted to be able to keep pretending that she doesn’t want to crumble into Lexa’s embrace.

“I’ll go interrogate Titus. You should sleep”, the Commander says once it becomes obvious Clarke won’t answer. “I will see you tomorrow – with good news, I hope.”

A second later, Lexa gets up from the bed and aims for the door, but she barely has time to take two steps before Clarke stops her by catching her wrist. Confused, Lexa turns around and looks at the blonde questioningly.

Clarke curses herself. She reached out more by reflex than anything else, but the result is the same.

(So much for not seeking physical contact at all…)

Biting her lip, she takes a deep breath and simply whispers “thank you”, more earnestly than she thought she would.

Lexa replies with a gentle nod before heading out, leaving Clarke struggling with her thoughts and memories once more – though she’s able to approach the situation more rationally and with fewer tears than before, which is… well, at least one level of improvement.

Since resting unfortunately doesn’t seem to be an option her brain agrees to consider, she ends up tossing and turning during most of the night; she does her best not to think about anything at all, but her mind always keeps coming back to Raven and what her current whereabouts might be anyway. No matter how hard Clarke tries to push it aside, the fear she feels just won’t leave her alone.

As for the desire to cry herself to sleep in Lexa’s arms, it’s still there and relentless long after the Commander has exited the room.

 

* * *

 

Bellamy is still pacing in his room when someone knocks on the door, pulling him out of his thoughts. It’s been something like an hour since Lexa led them to their new bedrooms but he hasn’t been able to calm down yet; inaction is driving him nuts, and having to rely on the Commander for information certainly doesn’t help.

“Who’s there?” he asks, twice as wary of potential threats since Raven disappeared – besides, he doesn’t trust the Grounder guards in front of his door to sort out properly who’s dangerous and who isn’t.

“It’s Echo.”

Well, that’s a surprise.

“What are you doing here?” he frowns as he opens the door and invites her in.

“I heard there was an attack in the tower and Skaikru were targeted”, Echo explains as she walks into the room. “Nobody knew what happened exactly or how many casualties there are, so I came to check if you are alright. I am relieved to see it is the case.”

Bellamy stares at her and frowns again when he understands what doesn’t add up in her story. “Wait, how did you find me?”

“I know which floor you were previously staying on. I was told by numerous warriors that I couldn’t go any further as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, but there were blood sprays on the walls and I had no idea who it belonged to. I asked for information that I didn’t manage to get, so I tried several floors until I found someone who could and agreed to indicate where Skaikru had been moved.”

“You went through a lot of trouble to make sure I’m okay”, Bellamy remarks.

Echo nods sharply. “You helped me in the Mountain. Honor dictates I help you in return if I can.”

“Oh, uh… Thanks. Talking about help, what do you know about Titus?” Bellamy asks. “He’s Lexa’s… advisor or something.”

Since Echo didn’t make mention of how their last conversation ended, he doesn’t either. He’s just glad his awkward comments are forgotten, though he suspects it might have to do with the current circumstances more than anything else.

“Not much. Why?”

“Clarke thinks he’s responsible for the explosion. Lexa is supposed to interrogate him, we don’t have any other lead, and being stuck here unable to help Raven while only _the Commander_ investigates… I feel like I’m gonna go crazy soon if I don’t find something to do!” he thunders.

“Raven?” Echo enquires.

“Yeah, she’s been kidnapped and we’re not sure who did it yet, if it’s Titus or someone else”, Bellamy replies gruffly. “That’s what the explosion was about.”

“You care about her”, Echo states evenly.

Bellamy nods and runs a hand over his face. “She’s my girlfriend”, he simply answers.

“Oh. I hope you’ll find her. I’m sorry”, Echo says, though her voice stays pretty emotionless. “You do not seem to like the Commander much”, she continues with no transition whatsoever, and it takes Bellamy a few seconds to adjust to the change of subject.

“I don’t like _Grounders_ ”, he shoots back.

“Yet you do not mind my presence”, Echo points out.

“It’s… different”, Bellamy admits.

“No. I am what you call a Grounder.”

“You helped me in Mount Weather too. It’s different”, he repeats.

“If you say so. Was anyone else hurt?”

“During the explosion? No. One of our guards was killed afterwards, otherwise we’re all okay.”

Echo narrows her eyes. “And the blood?”

“Grounders, not… I think you name us Skaikru”, Bellamy shrugs.

“Titus has advised several Commanders and is greatly valued because his knowledge is broad, as well as rare. That is the reason why he never leaves Polis during wars. I could not tell you much more about him.”

Taken aback by the statement presented – again – without any transition from the previous topic of the discussion whatsoever, Bellamy blinks in surprise. “O— Okay, that’s— Uh, thanks anyway”, he stammers.

Echo nods firmly. “I will snoop around, ask if someone saw your girlfriend. If I find information that might be relevant, I will tell you. And if you learn anything from the Commander that could help me in my search, let me know.”

“Thank you, again”, Bellamy replies, earnestly this time. Echo doesn’t have to help in any way, yet she’s still getting involved without having been asked to. “But how do I find you if I need to tell you something?”

“Just go to the place where we met up three days ago and wait for me there. I will check regularly.”

“Uh…” Bellamy sighs. “I’m not sure where we were when we talked the other day, I didn’t really pay attention”, he admits.

“It was near the South-East market. It is easy to find, anyone can give you directions.”

“Okay. And if you find something?”

“I will come here directly”, Echo replies. Eyeing him up and down, she then adds: “You should rest. Staying up worrying helps no one.”

And with that she gets out of the room in seconds, leaving behind her a quite confounded Bellamy who still does dare feel a little more hopeful than he was an hour ago.

 

* * *

 

Early the following morning, it’s on Octavia’s door that someone knocks; given that she’s grunting profusely as she practices fighting with an imaginary opponent, the young woman almost doesn’t hear it. In fact, she discards the sound as random noise like there sometimes is in the tower, and she doesn’t react until a second louder wave of bangs echoes in the room.

It’s barely after dawn, she’s been up for at least two hours, she feels useless and powerless as she waits for Lexa to give them any news (she tried to get some herself but it turned out the Commander was not in the tower about an hour ago, so she came back empty-handed), she’s scared for Raven, she barely slept during the night, and she’s angry overall. In short: she’s not in the best mood ever as she strides to the door and opens it brusquely.

Seeing who’s on the other side doesn’t do anything to improve it. Quite the contrary, even.

“What do you want?” Octavia bites out aggressively.

Imperturbable, Indra keeps staring at her. “I heard you got roughhoused quite easily two days ago”, she says while keeping a straight face, though her tone is clearly tinged with irony.

“Yeah, well, at least I made it out of the fight still conscious”, Octavia retorts, recalling how the guards were knocked out almost immediately. She then crosses her arms, making sure her attitude is clearly hostile. “And you happen to know that how?”

(It’s not like her first encounter with Carmilla had a lot of witnesses… Thankfully.)

“I am the head of the guards now. It is my job to know”, Indra states.

Since TonDC was destroyed beyond repair, Lexa decided against consuming the resources needed to rebuild it and the survivors were moved to Polis instead; Indra got a new role in the process, which she does appreciate, but she also misses her village dearly. It’s been months since the missile hit it and she acts as if she has moved on, but the truth is: she’s still mourning, and probably will be for quite a while longer.

No one should ever know about that weakness, though.

Which is why she reveals her new status with assertiveness – and maybe even a hint of pride leaking through her voice.

Not that Octavia seems to care. Despite just learning about Indra’s promotion, she isn’t the least bit fazed.

“Great. Your point?” the young woman growls.

“Are you becoming weak, sky girl?” Indra taunts. “Did spending so much time among Skaikru again make you forget what I taught you about fighting?”

Octavia snorts with disbelief. “Your guards ended up with their heads slamming against the wall less than five seconds after the beginning of the fight, and I’m the one you call weak?!”

(Okay, to be fair, her own situation wasn’t much more glorious, but it’s not a thing she particularly feels like acknowledging in front of anyone. In front of Indra, even less.)

“There is room for you in the nearest training arena”, Indra continues evenly, ignoring Octavia’s remark entirely.

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so. I’m fine here.”

“You are a warrior, sky girl”, Indra scoffs. “Your place is not in this room; it is outside – training.”

Her tone makes Octavia want to punch her. Or slam the door in her face.

Or both.

Truth be told, it’s not an easy choice.

“My friend is missing”, the young woman hisses instead of doing either after all. “I’m not moving from here.”

“Sitting around all day will certainly not help her. If you want to be of any use to your friend, get ready to fight when you will need to. What good is an unfit warrior to anyone?” Indra challenges.

“Your lack of honor and decency didn’t prevent me from training”, Octavia retorts in a somewhat accusing tone. “I can do just fine on my own.”

It’s Indra’s time to snort but with amusement rather than disbelief, though her body also tenses – probably in anger – because of the verbal attack. However, she doesn’t comment on it, and keeps the conversation on track instead. “I doubt the efficiency of this method. You need to face real adversaries to be prepared for a fight.”

“Speak for yourself”, Octavia replies defiantly.

She actually knows she’s not at her best – far from it, even –, but she’s way too stubborn to admit that in front of Indra of all people. The cut on her neck, though it has long healed, still burns as much as it did three months ago from the sting of betrayal. Following orders blindly rather than standing up for what is right is a choice that Octavia can’t understand or excuse; she never has, and she hopes she never will.

No, she doesn’t simply _hope_ , she’s actually quite confident that she can say she _knows_ : it’s just not who she is. She’s not a sheep. She strives for justice, freedom, honor and respect, and she’ll defend those values even if she needs to put her life on the line for them.

Like when Indra pushed a knife against her throat.

Octavia lost all the respect she ever had for her former mentor when the latter turned around in the tunnels and left without a look back. Indra was supposed to be condemning the Arker prisoners to die by doing so, and that’s a decision Octavia can’t forgive.

Which is why the two women didn’t exchange a word during the three-day trip to Polis, or during the two days before that when Indra was camping just outside of Arkadia with the guards that were accompanying her: Octavia avoided her thoroughly, and Indra didn’t make any move to seek the young woman’s company either. As a result, they barely crossed paths before the peace delegation left Arkadia; after that, once they were on the way to Polis, Octavia only ever looked Indra’s way to make sure they weren’t walking or riding too close to each other. It was an efficient plan to avoid conversation, and it worked pretty well: her former mentor left her entirely alone.

That was good. Octavia was glad they agreed they had nothing more to say to each other.

Well, at least, they _seemed_ to agree… Which is apparently not the case.

Why the hell did Indra decide to pop up randomly now, pretty much at the worst moment possible? Octavia is really not in the mood for conversation; not to mention Indra is kind of the person that she least wants to see at the moment – well, that she least wants to see, period.

But as much as she wants to slam the door shut without any remorse whatsoever, Octavia also has to admit that Indra has a point about training. Once they locate Raven, chances are some fighting will be required – as usual… –, and since she plans to be on the front line when that happens… The readier she gets, the better.

Except she also _really_ wants nothing to do with Indra.

So she’s ending that conversation now.

And since words absolutely don’t work – no matter how unpleasant she’s been so far, Octavia just can’t seem to make Indra go away –, she decides she’s going to stop talking altogether and simply close the damn door after all. Hopefully, that will be enough to convey how final her refusal is.

She has barely moved an inch, reaching for the handle, when she feels her legs give way under her. It takes Octavia so completely by surprise that there’s a delay before her brain registers what’s happening – Indra knocked her down and is currently glowering at her –; so she feels herself falling, but she’s too stunned to react properly.

The only reason why her back doesn’t end up colliding with the floor quite harshly is because Indra takes pity on her, catching her right before she crashes on the ground. Octavia feels a hand wrapping around her forearm and, a second later, she’s being pulled back to her feet roughly.

“You are not prepared, sky girl”, Indra barks, furious. “A warrior is ready at any moment. I should not be able to make you fall by sweeping your feet, nor should you look at me stupidly instead of reacting as I do so. Now you keep hating me if you want to be that stubborn”, she continues in a growl, “but shove your ridiculous pride aside and come train with me before I decide to teach you a lesson right here. I wouldn’t bother catching you next time, and Raven may need you to be in one piece. Consider this a warning.”

Acting unimpressed, Octavia glares back at her and retorts: “Again, I can’t go anywhere. We’re all waiting for news about Raven.”

“If there is any major breakthrough, Lexa knows where to find me”, Indra assures. “Until then, I doubt you have any interest in staying here. You are just making excuses.”

Defeated, Octavia still weighs up the pros and the cons for a moment before sighing and hissing “fine” through gritted teeth.

Indra nods. “Good. I prefer you like this, Octavia”, she says, turning around and walking away.

As the young woman falls into step behind her, she realizes it’s the first time Indra referred to her by her name instead of ‘sky girl’ since the beginning of the conversation.

She wishes that fact didn’t matter so much to her.

 

* * *

 

Octavia crouches to dodge the next attack, evaluates the situation with a glance, and decides to roll away from Indra so she gets at least a few seconds to regroup. Less than ten minutes of hand-to-hand combat and she’s drained already, not to mention out of breath and unable to land a single blow. It’s infuriating – even more so since she’s certain Indra is holding back a little.

Hoping to use her agility to turn the situation to her advantage, Octavia gets back up and feints to the left before letting herself drop to the floor again; a second later, she successfully reappears behind Indra’s back. Her joy is short-lived, though, as an elbow lands in her stomach and efficiently renders her incapable of breathing for a few seconds.

“Weak attempt”, Indra comments icily as she turns around and stares Octavia down. “I hope you still know how to fight with a weapon, but from what I’ve seen so far, I doubt it”, she adds, merciless in her criticism, while Octavia tries to force air into her lungs again.

“Why do you care?” the young woman spits out once she’s recovered enough to speak.

Indra doesn’t answer and instead goes to grab two wooden swords hanging from hooks on the nearby wall. She throws one at Octavia, who catches it easily.

“Let’s see how much three months with your people have made you forget”, Indra grumbles as she lifts her weapon and shifts her position to a defensive stance.

Octavia, on the other hand, lowers her sword until the tip touches the mix of sand and soil that covers the ground of the arena. “They’re not my people”, she shoots back.

“Are you not from the sky, sky girl?” Indra scoffs.

“Where I was born doesn’t mean anything. I’m not like them. They destroy everything”, Octavia replies, thinking about the laws on the Ark that got her mom killed, about the failed first meeting with Anya, about pretty much everyone’s unwavering willingness to use guns before they talk, and about Maya, that she saw burn from the inside in Mount Weather as Jasper held her.

Granted, Bellamy explained to her the unfortunate timing issues that led to the irradiation of level five once they were back to Camp Jaha, but it didn’t make her any less sick.

“And they didn’t even want me to exist anyway”, Octavia adds, not willing to plainly state that she was imprisoned just for being born and would have eventually been killed for the exact same reason. “The only way they know how to solve a problem is with violence and death.”

“Skaikru are weak and believe they own everything they see or touch”, Indra spits out.

“But I’m not like you either, like Grounders”, Octavia continues, shaking her head. Since they’re having this conversation after all, she might as well get her anger out. “I thought so, at first, but I was wrong. If someone let my village be burned to the ground, I wouldn’t find it okay. I don’t find torture okay either. Or breaking promises and betraying people.”

Indra lets her wooden sword drop to the ground, takes two steps forward and puts a knife to Octavia’s throat, much like she did three months ago.

“The people of TonDC were my people, my responsibility, my friends”, Indra hisses, her eyes burning with anger. “But Lexa _had_ to let the missile fall so we could have a chance to enter the Mountain. You are a fool if you think otherwise. Wars are not won without bloodshed.”

“You never set foot inside Mount Weather”, Octavia points out accusingly, holding Indra’s gaze and not moving away from the knife. “You logic doesn’t hold.”

“ _You_ did get in, I suppose thanks to your brother… If TonDC hadn’t been sacrificed, you could not have defeated the Mountain Men. But you are right: the revenge should have been ours, not yours”, Indra snarls.

Octavia narrows her eyes. “You think Lexa should have stayed and fought”, she realizes.

“Yes.”

“You could have come back.”

“Whether or not I agree with Lexa’s decisions, I respect them”, Indra counters. “She’s the Commander.”

“Doesn’t mean she’s right”, Octavia shoots back.

“No, but it means I have to obey or face the consequences. Lexa does what she believes is best. No one knows all the reasons behind the Commander’s choices, and it is not my place to judge those. Whether I agree with what she did or not, I have _not_ been chosen to lead us all, so my opinion holds no weight. If it did, we _would_ have helped you kill everyone inside the Mountain – and eradicating this vermin would have been my plan from the beginning”, Indra assures, nearly growling.

“Some of the people in there were innocent. They didn’t deserve to die”, Octavia contends. The knife is still against her throat, but she doesn’t care. “There were children and babies inside Mount Weather, and people who always refused to use Grounder blood, even if it could save them.”

She’s spent so much time listening to Jasper talk about Maya during the last three months that she knows a thing or two about the resistance movement within Mount Weather.

“I don’t care”, Indra barks. “I would never have trusted a single Mountain Man, and their word even less. They took thousands from us. We deserved payback.”

“Killing everyone without distinction might fit your idea of justice, but not mine”, Octavia retorts. “If you want retaliation but you don’t take circumstances into account, then you’re not much better than the people who hurt you.”

“I was wrong about you. You are just as weak as the rest of Skaikru”, Indra scoffs.

“You’d be surprised by how many people born in the Ark would agree with you rather than me”, Octavia comments through gritted teeth. “As I said, I’m neither like Skaikru nor like Grounders. I don’t think killing is the answer to every problem. Refusing to hurt others who don’t deserve it is not weakness, it’s called being compassionate. Sometimes, it takes more strength to forgive than to get your vengeance at all costs.”

Indra laughs briefly, mockingly, as she removes her knife from Octavia’s throat. “Even you don’t believe a word of what you are saying, sky girl. Don’t expect me to take you seriously. You dare talk about forgiving murderers when you can’t even forgive me for following a direct order at the Mountain; you are ridiculous.”

“The people I’m talking about _weren’t_ murderers, that was my point”, Octavia remarks. “They _refused_ to kill others in order to survive. Their death wasn’t fair.”

“No death is fair in a war”, Indra shoots right back. “Not in TonDC, not in the Mountain, not on any battlefield. If you have such an issue with killing, maybe you should have become a healer like Lincoln, not a warrior”, she adds contemptuously.

“I want to prevent useless deaths, not try to heal those who can be saved once it’s too late”, Octavia counters. “And knowing how to fight doesn’t necessarily mean using these skills to kill, even if I have no problem with that when it’s justified. I just think… If everyone tried to get along and listen to each other and— and work towards peace instead of war, a lot less people would die for nothing. That’s all.”

“You’re an idealist”, Indra bites out mockingly. “Lexa wants peace too, but she’s willing to do what it takes to achieve it. If people like you or Lincoln were in command, you would all get us killed in no time. Not everyone has qualms like you do.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware that bastards exist”, Octavia retorts. “Some people decided that killing twenty guards to abduct Raven was okay as early as yesterday, and I can assure you I’m going to make _them_ pay for what they did. I won’t have ‘qualms’ about it”, she states very seriously. “Now, I’m done talking. You were right about one thing earlier – no, two, actually: I’m fighting really badly, and my statement about forgiveness was a bit hypocritical. It’s always easier to talk and judge when you’re not involved. _So_ ”, she says then takes a deep breath that she releases immediately, “how about you pretend I’m still your second and knock some sense into me with that wooden sword?” she asks as she points at it, on the ground behind Indra. “Meanwhile, I’ll work on putting my own advice into practice if you give what I just said some thought. Oh, and stop acting as if you hate Lincoln or something. We both know healers are useful, and I also know it’s you who gave him the choice to come back for us even though you really didn’t have to. Deal?”

Indra looks her up and down several times, then takes a few steps back and grabs her wooden sword again. “Deal”, she accepts reluctantly. “Especially the part where I knock some sense into you.”

Pushing the conversation they just had completely away from her mind so she can focus on her stance and more generally on the fight, Octavia nods and readjusts her grip on her own sword. “I’m ready.”

“Whether you are or not shouldn’t change anything”, Indra groans as she attacks, slipping back into her role of unforgiving teacher.

Octavia blocks the first blow, the second, the third, and then the gestures start to become automatic as the world around her turns into a blur. She quickly loses track of time as she attacks, feints, blocks, falls on the ground, gets to her feet again and spits out some dirt; rinse, repeat. It doesn’t matter how rarely she manages to disarm her mentor. It doesn’t matter how many times Indra makes her lose her balance. What matters is pushing through stubbornly and preparing to fight again.

Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.

 

* * *

 

It’s almost noon when Lexa comes back to the tower, after having spent the morning asking for information about Raven to the regular marketeers and the patrolling warriors in the streets of Polis. Unfortunately, neither she nor the numerous people she recruited to help her were successful in any way; it’s like the young woman just vanished as soon as she was out of the tower: absolutely no one saw her in the city. Which is a problem, because that was the only means of finding a decent lead Lexa could think of.

She enters the throne room expecting to find only Titus in it and narrows her eyes at the sight of three teenage boys surrounded by guards in front of her. By their appearance, she immediately guesses they’re Skaikru.

“What is this?” she demands to know.

“They were found wandering in the forest near the beach this morning and brought here”, Titus replies. “They have been asking to see their leader ever since. They refuse to explain why.”

“Get Clarke”, the Commander orders, glancing at him before refocusing on the three guys in front of her.

“Uh, actually…” one of the boys blurts, “we’re here to see Abby and Kane, not Clarke.”

Instead of acknowledging that statement, Lexa asks coldly: “How did you find Polis?”

“‘Have a map”, another one slurs; he’s probably as drunk as he sounds and looks.

Lexa sighs inwardly. As if the situation weren’t complicated enough so far… These three are probably going to add another level to it entirely, and she really could have done without it.

*

“Jasper”, Monty scolds in an undertone.

They’re supposed to talk to Abby and Kane, not to a Grounder who’s probably the Commander responsible for the kill order on Lincoln’s head – Lincoln who drew them the map Jasper just mentioned.

The less they say for now, the better.

“Who’s she?” Jasper slurs again, pointing very not gracefully to Lexa with his index finger.

Monty holds back a sigh, grabs his wrist and pulls it back down sharply, which results in Jasper losing balance and staggering backwards; the guard behind him seizes his arm to steady him before their bodies collide, and Jasper yelps at the touch.

“Ouch, ‘t hurts, squeezed hard!”

“Shut up”, Monty hisses in a whisper.

The three days and nights it took them to reach Polis have pretty much been hell and, as a result, he’s so on edge that he’s really _this_ close to slapping some sense into Jasper – heartbroken best friend or not.

Honestly, the fact that they made it to Polis alive is close to a miracle in itself. Just like Monty had anticipated, bringing a perpetually drunk guy on a several-day-long ride in the woods added its fair share of issues to something that was already complicated enough as it was.

Not only did he and Miller barely get any rest at night because they were too scared to lose the horses or to get attacked by who-knows-which-wild-animals-live-in-this-forest to really close their eyes despite the shifts they took, but they also had to worry about Jasper, who could randomly start sobbing really loudly in his sleep – thus efficiently signalling their position to anyone in a half-mile radius.

Not only did they have to try to figure out how to control horses they had no idea how to ride properly to begin with, but they also had to deal with Jasper suddenly deciding to part from the group by breaking into a gallop.

(This particular issue happened only once, though. Ending up head first in a patch of mud was apparently unpleasant enough to serve as a lesson to Jasper, but calming their own horses and recovering Jasper’s one took Monty and Miller much longer than they would have liked.)

(That incident also led to Jasper dismounting and running straight into the ocean when they reached it the next day. He wanted to clean off the mud.)

(It took him hours to dry up after that, since he had _obviously_ bathed with his clothes on… and they only had change for their underwear, which wasn’t of much help in this particular case, so everything stayed soaked against Jasper’s skin.)

(Already way too tired after barely more than a day since they had left Arkadia, Monty and Miller chose to tie Jasper up to his horse’s saddle. That made the rest of the trip a little easier.)

All in all, they eventually made it to Polis – albeit in a remarkable state of exhaustion since they barely slept during the last two nights, wishing to arrive faster –, but the past three days were nerve-wracking to say the least, and Monty is honestly not far from snapping. So Jasper had better watch his step during the next few hours.

“Please don’t pay attention to him”, Miller tells Lexa. “He is a bit, uh, we had to bring him with us, but he, uh…” he tries to explain, stumbling over his words. The last time he had to deal with Grounders, they were at war, not chatting politely – and these are two _vastly_ different things to handle. He doesn’t want to say something that could be misinterpreted by mistake, but he feels like he just can’t not say something either while Monty tries to contain the major problem that Jasper as a whole currently is.

Thankfully, the doors open again and save him from embarrassing himself any more before Lexa has time to comment on his weak attempt at an explanation.

Clarke enters the room in a haste, but she freezes when she recognizes the three guys standing in front of her. “Monty?” she asks. “Miller? Ja— Jasper? What are you doing here?!”

“You know them”, Lexa notes.

“Yeah, they landed on the Ground with me. But they should be in Camp Jaha – or… whatever the new name is, I can’t remember it –, not here! Guys, what’s happening?!”

“You”, Jasper growls and takes a step forward. “Imma—” he has time to add before he trips over his own feet and falls down on the floor.

No guard moves so much as a finger to help him this time.

“We’re here to speak with Kane and Abby”, Miller explains. “We had to take Jasper with us”, he adds, grimacing.

Clarke feels a knot of fear form in her stomach. This can’t be good – no unexpected event is _ever_ good on the Ground. What’s happening in Camp Jaha that justifies sending a seemingly half-drunk (or completely drunk, actually) guy to Polis?

Whatever it is, she doesn’t think she can deal with it. Not when she doesn’t even have an update on Raven.

Turning to Lexa, she whispers: “Any news?”

Instead of answering, the Commander asks the three guys: “Is it urgent?”

“Yes”, Miller assures.

“Then Titus will show you to Skaikru’s rooms”, Lexa replies. “Clarke, you should go with them.”

She doesn’t need to say another word to make her point crystal clear: she didn’t find anything significant. She has no lead that would justify not considering Jasper, Monty and Miller’s arrival the main priority; the guys can have their discussion with Kane and Abby before Lexa calls for a meeting to talk about Raven.

Clarke feels her heart sink down in her chest.

 

* * *

 

Given the mess that is Jasper, Monty suggests that he stays with him in a separate place so Miller can explain the situation without any drunken interruption; everyone agrees it’s the best course of action, so the two end up going to Abby’s room while the others settle in Kane’s one.

Miller doesn’t waste any time and quickly starts talking, though he needs to pause while Abby updates Clarke on the discovery of survivors from Farm Station in the woods by an expedition that was originally searching for her. Once that’s done, he details the situation in Arkadia: Pike’s growing ideology that all Grounders are the same – their enemies –, Lincoln’s worries, and the execution of the three emissaries who came to offer an alliance.

Clarke stops him at that.

“Do you know what clan they were from?” she enquires, though she feels like she already knows the answer – and, of course, she does.

“Uh, Lincoln said it at some point, but I can’t remember exactly. That wasn’t the most important thing.” Miller shrugs. “Ezga-something?”

Ice Nation. _Of course._

Once Nia was made aware of Clarke’s presence in Polis, she decided to go to the Arkers’ camp directly rather than waste her time trying to get Wanheda. Lexa did say that might happen, it’s even the very reason why they hurried and sent Clarke’s letter as soon as possible: they needed to get to Abby and Kane before Nia did.

The Pike variable just wasn’t supposed to be part of the equation.

Clarke sighs. “Okay, so let me sum it up: he wants to take the lands around Camp Jaha, uh, Arkadia, by force, and he thinks Abby and Kane were walking into a trap by following Indra because Ice Nation warriors wanted to speak to our leaders about an alliance? That doesn’t make sense”, she frowns.

“It does to him”, Miller counters. “The only Grounders he’s ever seen are the warriors who killed his people one by one. He never saw those who came to get Kane – and I didn’t either, actually, because they never set foot inside Arkadia: they stayed in a camp outside. Other than that? The only stories Pike has heard are the battle at the dropship, the army that almost attacked while we were trapped inside Mount Weather, and the betrayal. Honestly, I’ve always known Grounders through war too; I wasn’t there when you managed to get an alliance with them, Clarke. It’s not really hard for me to imagine Pike’s point of view of all Grounders being our enemies… I even kinda share it, actually, I just don’t want any more people to die.

“I have no idea why it matters, which clan the emissaries were from. Well, I suppose it does, but imagine the Grounders as one entity? They ask our leaders to go to negotiations, then they send another group to offer an alliance? That’s called going behind someone’s back, or double-crossing someone who you think will disagree with you. And Pike argues that we shouldn’t lower ourselves to negotiate with people whose only ultimate goal is to kill us anyway.” Turning to Kane, Miller adds: “He thinks you were way too trustful, following Grounders blindly to their Capital. He’s not even sure you’re still alive.”

Clarke gapes as something clicks into place in her mind. “Kane, mom, please tell me you told everyone why you were going to Polis?” she blurts out angrily, her eyes growing wide as she realizes how much of a mess they’re potentially facing.

“No, we didn’t”, Abby retorts. “We were certainly not going to say anything before any decision was taken. Can you imagine the reactions?”

“Yeah, well, now can _you_ imagine how easy it is for Pike to convince everyone that Lexa tried to double-cross you?! You came to Polis to work towards peace, to make us join the Coalition, to prevent a war that _the Ice Nation_ was trying to start, not just for some random negotiations! Do you realize how bad this is?! If Pike attacks any village, it’ll be an act of _war_. We’ll have done all of this for _nothing_. And half of the lands he wants are probably ours already anyway! This is just— You’re gonna get us all screwed. As usual”, Clarke bites out, shaking her head bitterly and feeling tears prick her eyes. The situation in Arkadia is a catastrophe just waiting to happen – one she’s not sure she can fix this time.

Who knew the nightmare from the previous day could get worse?

“This is my fault, Clarke”, Kane chimes in. He had stayed silent so far, weighing his options until he made a decision. “I’m the one who told Pike to keep an eye out. I didn’t know… I thought he was still the same person than on the Ark.”

Unfortunately, the once kind and smiling teacher turned into someone else entirely. It doesn’t really surprise Clarke: she knows full well the Ground can do that to people.

“Thanks for coming to get me”, Kane continues, nodding to Miller. “I need to fix this before it’s too late. I’ll go back immediately. Clarke, as the ambassador, I suppose you can fill in for me during the next few days?”

“Yeah”, she answers, swallowing with difficulty because her throat feels too tight. The only thing she wants in the near future is to close her eyes and sleep until everything is fine again, but that’s unfortunately not something she can afford.

Still, she’s close to another nervous breakdown like the one from last night.

It’s neither the time nor the place, though, so she does her best to push through.

“But—”

“Not now, mom”, Clarke practically barks.

“Abby, you’ll go to Mount Weather as planned, but with Monty instead of Raven”, Kane continues, “and—”

“Uh”, Miller lets out, then freezes as everyone turns to look at him. “There’s no way Monty’s going to Mount Weather”, he explains once he finds his voice again. “Believe me, he won’t leave Jasper, and taking _him_ back there? That’s not an option. You should really go with Raven.”

Only silence answers him for a while, and he frowns as everyone exchanges glances but stays mute.

“What’s the problem?”

“We don’t know where Raven is”, Kane finally admits.

“… You’re kidding me?!” Miller breathes out, disbelief lacing his voice.

“We don’t have time for this”, Clarke points out, unwilling to lose time in explanations that aren’t necessary. “Kane, you need to leave as soon as possible.”

“Yes. Abby, you stay here and wait until—”

“I’m going with you, Marcus”, Abby argues. “I’ll help you reason with Pike. And since I can’t go to Mount Weather for now, I might as well stock up some supplies from Arkadia before I come back and I head there with Raven”, she asserts forcefully. She doesn’t consider not finding the brunette an option. “Besides, I’ll need to give further instructions to Jackson before I go set up the hospital.”

Curiosity takes the better of Clarke as she asks: “Why didn’t you do it earlier?”

Abby glares at her. “I never left Arkadia until I had news from you. Jackson went to explore the place, not me. I haven’t seen the inside of Mount Weather since…”

She doesn’t need to explain when – of course it’s _that day_. The day Clarke irradiated level five. Abby had gone to quickly check Mount Weather’s medical facility before they left, despite everyone’s haste to get out of there as fast as possible.

Clarke takes a deep breath and shuts her feelings up behind high walls. Now is not the time to be distracted by those memories.

“Okay. You two go; I’ll explain the situation to Lexa in a minute, I suppose she’ll send someone to help you saddle a few horses. You should take, uh, Spencer and the others” – whose names she really can’t remember – “with you, in case there are more Ice Nation warriors in the woods. Given the situation in Arkadia, a Grounder escort might be a bad idea. Miller?”

“We’re staying here”, he answers, understanding the question immediately. “I’m not handling Jasper on a horse again right now, and Monty’s about ready to collapse on a bed. Me too, actually.”

“Okay”, Clarke nods.

“Are you sure you don’t want one or two of our guards to stay here, just in case?” Kane offers.

Clarke shakes her head. “No. If the situation degenerates, we’ll be better off on our own. We’re used to working with each other; we’ll be more efficient without them.”

“Alright.”

A short, kind of awkward silence settles after Kane’s response, which Miller is quick to break.

“Uh, could I talk to one of these guards?”

“Why?” Clarke frowns.

“Our excuse to come here was to spy on what was happening in Polis, and since they’re going back but we aren’t… It kinda doesn’t fit anymore”, Miller shrugs, pointing to Abby and Kane with his chin. “So if we want to be credible when we return to Arkadia, in case y’all need someone to get close to Pike and gain his trust and all that if he keeps being a problem, we need another excuse. Something like, we’re not going back immediately because Jasper’s too much of a mess and we arrived too late to be useful spies anyway, or because we’re staying to get an update on whatever the hell happened to Raven and we’ll come back when we know more? It’ll be suspect for sure if it comes from the Chancellor or, uh, Dr Griffin, so I should ask one of the guys you brought along to give a message to Pike is all.” After a beat, Miller adds: “Pike was a bit reluctant to let us go to begin with because we could get in trouble, but we argued we’re used to dealing with Grounders so he agreed after all. If we go radio silence, we’ll lose whatever trust he’s put into us so far. Thought you might not want that.”

Clarke stares at him for several seconds before she finally finds her voice again to answer: “Uh, yeah, good idea!”

She definitely didn’t give the guy half as much credit as he deserves up until two minutes ago.

“I’ll go now, then? Since you’re leaving?”

“Tim is in the second room to the right. He’s the one who was affected the most by Alex’s death; I think he’s the one who’ll look the most credible to Pike. You can just say you tried the doors randomly and he’s the first one who opened”, Kane suggests.

Miller’s eyes grow wide. “Who’s dead?!”

“I’ll explain everything later”, Clarke promises, though she doesn’t know when she’ll have time for that. “Start packing. I’ll go see what updates Lexa has”, she then adds, addressing Kane and her mom. “And I think I have an idea who could have taken Raven. We’ll work it out, just… Hurry up and try to fix the mess in Arkadia before it’s too late”, she mutters as she gets up and starts to leave.

“Clarke”, Abby blurts, causing her to stop. “Be careful, okay?”

It’s the second time her mom tells her that in the span of a few days but, this time, Clarke can’t find in herself the energy to make false promises.

“I’ll try”, she simply sighs as she slips out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Breik emo au.” = “Release them.”  
> “Dig au weron Skaikru gona kamp raun.” = “Find out where the Skaikru warriors are.”  
> “Shof op.” = “Quiet.”  
> “Sis em op en goch em op.” = “Take / Grab him and escort him.” (implied: upstairs)  
> “Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim.” = “Get knocked down, get back up.”  
> \----------  
> I wanted to add this in the notes at the beginning but we reached exactly the 5000 characters limit (... with some difficulty because we have length issues, you should see the hundreds of pages of digressions I have saved from when we're writing...) so here it goes:  
> This fic is as much a silly crackfic (that's how it began actually, though it grew A LOT) as it is an excuse to write Carmilla in The 100's universe, a season 3 fix-it, my personal excuse to write some Clexa angst and fluff with a happy ending, and Clarke's journey of recovery. We got some comments about that last point so I wanted to clarify: there are going to be ups and downs on that road, though with an obvious upward trajectory. She's definitely better at this point in the fic but far from fine, so don't expect her to be miraculously past everything; she *is* working on it though, don't worry!  
> I'll also quickly add that I'm more used to writing in-depth character explorations than plot of any kind. It's a first for me -- I'm actually using this fic as training for a book I'm writing in French, one that grew a lot more plot-heavy than planned as I went deeper into it --, so if some things are hard to follow or don't necessarily make sense to you, please don't hesitate to point it out! I'm using your feedback to fix what I can in the upcoming chapters and learn to be a better writer. (As one very cliché phrase says... practice makes perfect!)


	9. Part II: White - Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Graphic depictions of violence' applies to this chapter. TW: Blood, torture (which is described but not very graphic).
> 
> Hi guys! Soooo my Internet is mostly (emphasis on MOSTLY, this is my third time attempting to post this chapter...) back after countless calls to my ISP and more techs coming to intervene than I'd dare to count, but I still have issues (different issues though, because of-fucking-course), so keep that in mind for future updates. But also... Apparently, without that many issues / actual life happening, we’re still very slow to update. We're trying our best, sorry for the giant wait between each chapter ._.  
> \----------  
> “Don't dwell on what went wrong. Instead, focus on what to do next. Spend your energies on moving forward toward finding the answer.” - Denis Waitley

“Kane has to go back to Arkadia. There’s a situation he needs to take care of”, Clarke tells Lexa as soon as she sets foot in the throne room again. “My mom’s going with him and will come back with some supplies for the hospital. They’re taking the guards back with them too. Could you send someone to help saddle a few horses?”

Lexa frowns. “A situation?”

“Three Ice Nation warriors made it to Arkadia. My people are worried and there are some… tensions in the camp; they need an update on what happened on our end ASAP”, Clarke explains without giving any details. The Commander doesn’t need to know about the Arkers’ internal struggles unless it’s absolutely necessary – and Clarke really hopes the situation will be fixed before it gets too messy.

(When has anything ever taken the easy route since they landed, though?)

“What happened to the Azgeda warriors?” Lexa enquires.

“A few people freaked and killed them”, Clarke reveals, though she twists the truth without much remorse – Pike’s decision to execute the warriors on the spot was definitely deliberate, but there’s no need to mention that out loud. “As I said, there’s a situation. Monty, Miller and Jasper came to warn us about it – they travelled on the Ice Nation warriors’ horses, actually. They’ll be staying here for a while. And I’m in charge as our ambassador from now on”, she finishes with a small sigh.

“Alright”, Lexa nods. “I will send an escort to—”

Clarke cuts her off. “No. If some of my people patrol in the woods and they see your guards before they recognize Kane, that might put everyone at risk. My mom and the others will be fine on their own with the map Lincoln drew for Miller. _We_ have to focus on finding Raven.”

“I did not learn much”, Lexa admits.

“Yeah. I figured, earlier. But hearing about what happened in Arkadia got me thinking, and I think we’ve been barking up the wrong tree.”

“What does this mean?”

Clarke takes a deep breath and closes her eyes for a few seconds. She’s exhausted, she hasn’t eaten anything in about twenty-four hours, she’s so worried about Raven that she barely managed to sleep – and it was riddled with nightmares anyway –, so just staying up with her eyes open is requiring a great deal of effort.

“Titus has been accusing us, I’ve been accusing Titus… I think we’re both wrong”, Clarke details. “We’ve been too focused on the bomb and not enough on who would want the recording. Think about it: how did we make the ceremony happen?”

“We asked Roan to double-cross Nia”, Lexa answers, understanding immediately where Clarke’s mind is at. “She could use the recording to expose us to my people, confront us with undeniable proof of how the ceremony happened, assert she didn’t send Roan though he pretended that was the case, and maybe manage to invalidate the new Coalition if enough clans rally behind her.”

In short: Nia could use the recording with the exact purpose it was created for, but with a completely different goal in mind. Clarke had just planned to hold onto it and hopefully never use it, only keeping it as a fail-safe in case she ever needed to expose the Commander as a liar to the general Grounder population – the people not involved in politics, who didn’t hear firsthand the promises that were officially made to Skaikru during the ceremony –; however, she had never thought about how _someone else_ might want to use the recording: namely, how it could allow the Ice Queen to question the legitimacy of the new Coalition that they worked so hard to create.

It looks like that’s what might be happening, though, unfortunately. Which… _Shit_.

“Yes”, Clarke confirms. “And she’d need Raven to know how the recorder works.”

“It makes sense”, Lexa agrees. “But the bomb would have to come from one of your people.”

“Or there are things we don’t know”, Clarke counters. “Get Roan and meet me in the library; I’ll ask Octavia and Bellamy if they want to join us.”

“We shouldn’t get too many people involved”, Lexa argues.

“They’re _already_ involved”, Clarke retorts. “We’re talking about Raven here – she’s their friend as much as mine. Probably more, actually. It wouldn’t be fair to keep them in the dark.” With a sigh, she adds: “Get Titus too. If Nia is indeed behind all of this, we’ll need as much help and as many ideas as we can get if we want to find Raven soon.”

Lexa stares at her in silence for a moment before nodding in agreement and barking an order in Trigedasleng to one of the guards, who leaves immediately. Clarke only understands half of it, if not less, but that’s enough to know Lexa was telling him to go help Kane and the others with the horses.

At least one thing that’s being taken care of, she thinks as they get out of the room and head towards the elevator a few steps behind the guard.

 

* * *

 

When Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia arrive in the library, Lexa, Roan and Titus are not there yet. It’s not entirely surprising: it didn’t take long for Clarke to get the two siblings to join her; in fact, they were both sitting in Bellamy’s room when she arrived, and they jumped to their feet at the same time when they saw her, asking for news about Raven. She quickly summed up the lack of success of Lexa’s search as well as the potential new lead that is the Ice Nation, and when she suggested they could join the upcoming brainstorming session, they accepted in a heartbeat and followed her immediately.

Clarke heads to what is slowly but surely turning into a conference room without wasting any time, but she quickly realizes the others aren’t following, so she turns around to ask them what’s wrong.

Oh. Right.

She doesn’t need to ask anything, she understands immediately by the look on their faces.

She had forgotten that they hadn’t seen the library yet.

There really is something breathtaking about those endless rows of books over six feet high, and the feeling of being at the entrance of a magical maze can be easily overwhelming the first time – especially if you love reading to begin with and you’ve seen only a few books in your life so far.

Bellamy, especially, is gaping with stars in his eyes, while Octavia shakes herself out of it more quickly. “Why are we in a library?”

“This is the best place to have a conversation without being disturbed. It has kind of become a habit to come here when we need to discuss something”, Clarke shrugs.

“Are there any history books somewhere?” Bellamy wonders out loud.

“There’s pretty much anything you could be searching for. I’ll show you around once if you want”, Clarke offers, “when all of this is over…”

Her words get everyone back to the present quite efficiently, ending the carefree minute they just indulged themselves in. They’re not here to enjoy the view or to talk about books, they’re here because they need to find who took Raven and where.

“Follow me”, Clarke continues. “Lexa and the others will join us as soo—”

Her sentence is interrupted by a groan coming from somewhere in the room – a groan that, by habit, she identifies quite easily.

What is Carmilla doing here so early in the afternoon?

“Where the _fuck_ are the librarians when you actually need them?” a half-asleep grumpy voice mutters, confirming to Clarke the identity of the person who’s in the room with them.

Octavia’s attitude immediately shifts to an attack stance, while Bellamy’s eyes scan the room for something that could potentially be used as a weapon.

Clarke just sighs.

“Carmilla, what are you doing here?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that when it’s really obvious I’m sleeping?” the vampire groans.

“Since when do you sleep in the library?” Clarke enquires as she follows the source of the sound, which seems to indicate that Carmilla is in her usual corner – corner that Clarke is starting to think of as a vampire lair.

Behind her, Octavia and Bellamy exchange a confused look bordering on wariness, then decide to follow her.

Carmilla groans again. “The upper floors smelled an awful lot like blood, and I wasn’t too keen on getting closer to it since I haven’t properly fe—” Her sentence comes to an abrupt stop when she catches sight of the three Arkers, only just now appearing in her field of view. Having trouble waking up properly, she hadn’t considered that Clarke could be in the company of other people. “To what do I owe the pleasure of the visit of… dumb and dumber?” she asks sarcastically to divert the conversation.

“Chon yu bilaik?” Octavia demands, her voice harsh and icy.

Carmilla glances at her then looks back at Clarke and raises a questioning eyebrow, not yet awake enough to bother asking ‘why the fuck is that one talking to me in gibberish?’.

Since apparently no one is willing to open their mouth to explain what’s going on, though, Carmilla resumes, addressing Octavia: “Are you doing an impression of Clarke? Because except for the hair, you got it… quite right. Just as dishevelled, dirty and… stinky. Of course”, she mumbles. Bad hygiene seems to be a recurrent issue these days.

“She’s not a Grounder”, Octavia asserts, glaring at Clarke and ignoring the comments on her appearance following her training session with Indra in the morning. “So who the hell is she?”

Carmilla stretches her arms, practically purring at the feeling, before shifting her focus back to Octavia. “And you’re entitled to know because?” she asks, drawing out the vowels of the last word. Since the only answer she gets are narrowed eyes, she adds: “Thought so.”

Bellamy moves closer to Clarke and leans forward to whisper in her ear: “Octavia’s question is warranted. We know nothing about her. She could have helped whoever took Raven for all we know!”

“Who took who?” Carmilla asks, completely lost.

(Again, it’s not that she cares.)

(It’s just that she’d like to know what she’s being accused of.)

( _Especially_ when it’s thrown in her face by the people who just woke her up.)

This time, unlike at the ceremony, Octavia does more than simply stare at Carmilla in surprise. “How the hell did you hear that when _I_ barely did, and I’m ten feet closer to them?!” she questions, unable to understand what’s the deal with that girl.

“Maybe you should wash your ears better”, Carmilla deadpans.

“A friend of ours is missing”, Clarke says, cutting the verbal fight short. “She’s been abducted yesterday. That’s why you smelled blood, a lot of guards were killed.”

Carmilla sighs with irritation. “Being accused of kidnapping girls is getting more and more annoying”, she grumbles. “Just so I know, are you planning on tying me up to make me confess to something I didn’t do?”

“You sound like that happened to you before”, Bellamy notes.

No one asks a question like this one completely randomly.

“It would literally take three years to explain everything”, Carmilla dismisses.

“Anyway, I highly doubt she has anything to do with Raven’s disappearance”, Clarke intercedes.

Being the only one who knows Carmilla is a vampire, she’s also the only one who doesn’t find the conversation too weird – stories of kidnapping people don’t sound so strange once you’ve witnessed someone lighting a fire in a matter of seconds without lifting a finger.

(She would definitely not put abducting someone past Carmilla, though.)

“ _Why_?” Octavia asks, greatly annoyed that none of her legitimate questions are getting a decent answer.

“It’s complicated”, Clarke sighs in response.

Thankfully, the library’s door opens, saving her from having to give any details whatsoever.

“We’re over here”, she calls out.

Lexa and the two others join the little group a few seconds later.

“What is she doing here?” Titus enquires when he spots Carmilla.

“Just casually going through an inquisition. Wanna join?” the vampire grouches.

“His was yesterday”, Lexa replies evenly. Turning to Clarke, she asks: “Why are you interrogating her?”

“I’m not. Octavia and Bellamy were suspecting her”, Clarke explains.

“‘Her’ has a name. And is literally right here. And was actually sleeping until you all decided it would be nice to have a meeting right next to her, so if you could all leave, that would be great”, Carmilla huffs.

“No”, Titus says authoritatively. “The two Sky people are right. She knew what the device was, and since she attended several meetings, she knows enough to be behind what happened yesterday.”

“The only thing I’m behind is on my sleep schedule”, Carmilla retorts. This guy is really annoying her and she’d gladly turn him into her snack of the day, but she doesn’t want to risk spraying blood on the books. “And yeah, _yesterday_ ’s ceremony thingy didn’t help with that.” Once she had gotten woken up by the noise due to the influx of people to the throne room, she hadn’t managed to fall asleep again, and same had gone for numerous hours after she attended the ceremony.

“We are losing precious time”, Lexa cuts in.

“Is now the moment I should thank you for using your brain and not obtusely accusing me too?” Carmilla asks, half-annoyed, half-holding back a sigh, half-seriously, and half-relieved that not _everyone_ is as stupid as humans can be.

(That’s a lot of halves, but it’s not like she cares. Or counts.)

(Also, Lexa is truly not half-bad.)

(God, she _really_ hates math.)

“I’ve encountered enough people who want power or information to recognize those desires – which would have been your motives, had you helped with the abduction – in a person. You appear to mainly want quiet and to be left alone, not to mention your reactions are genuine”, Lexa states matter-of-factly. “I do not consider you a suspect.” She pauses for a second, then adds: “But maybe you could help.”

“Yeah, she’s right”, Clarke adds without giving Carmilla time to reply. “Can’t you do something, with your p—” She stops herself in the middle of her sentence when the vampire glares at her with widening eyes, and she tries to fix her near-reveal by switching to the next thing other than ‘powers’ that crosses her mind before her stuttering becomes suspect: “Uh, panther-like senses?”

Okay, that’s not exactly the most casual thing ever, but it’ll have to do.

Carmilla groans internally when she hears Clarke’s disastrous back-pedalling. “I already told you that my only similarity to felines is that I spend most of the day sleeping”, she retorts immediately, though her voice lacks conviction and credibility.

(Over four hundred years, and she still gets uncomfortable when she needs to make up lies on the spot… Incredible how useful and benefiting experience is!)

(Or not.)

(The only great thing about her comeback is that, _at least_ , Clarke gets the hint and doesn’t say any other compromising words.)

“Couldn’t you do, just, you know, uh, like, with the rabbit?” that _really_ stupid blonde asks instead, which is definitely the most incredibly amazingly clear question _ever_.

(For one thing, _which rabbit_ , the one she ate or the one she caught?!)

(Never mind. She’s not doing this in front of all those fish-like gaping idiots anyway.)

“Oh, uuuuuh”, Carmilla starts, buying herself some time so she can find a way out of this mess. She finally settles for huffing: “If you wanted us to talk in private, you could have just said so. No need to use that stupid safe word you tried so hard to establish despite my reluctance.”

The wink and the smirk that she adds definitely help make Clarke look silly – and it efficiently diverts everyone’s attention: instead of glaring at her with a suspicious look, they all end up staring at the blonde as if she suddenly grew a second head.

_Good._

“You need to stop doing that”, Clarke grumbles through her teeth.

Carmilla flirting with her, or pretending to, will never stop annoying her – that’s one thing she’s pretty certain of.

“Lexa, can you start the meeting?” she continues, hating the fact that she’s _indeed_ asking to stay alone with Carmilla… and thus half-giving credit to the vampire’s bullshit.

It’s not like she has time to spare to defend herself, though.

(Especially since she can’t say what the conversation is really about anyway.)

(She wouldn’t entirely trust Carmilla not to kill her if she did.)

Thankfully, the Commander understands what’s going on – unlike everyone else – and leads everyone away without wasting a second, leaving Clarke and Carmilla alone in the main room of the library.

Octavia doesn’t follow Lexa until she’s given a pointed look at the both of them, though. It’s clear that the conversation isn’t over on her end and that she’ll keep trying to get answers in the future, but Carmilla is thankful for small mercies: at least, the problem is delayed and she can find out how to deal with it later. Preferably never.

Clarke waits until she hears the door of their usual meeting room being closed before she starts speaking again. “You don’t want anyone to know about your powers”, she notes, deciding against a too blunt approach despite how much she just wants to ask the vampire for help. Usually, being direct when addressing Carmilla leads to endless digressions, so maybe the other way around will be more efficient.

At least, she hopes so.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen how these dimwits flipped their shit for a _recording device_? Excuse me if I’m not particularly enthusiastic at the idea of telling everyone I’m even the slightest bit not ordinary”, Carmilla shoots back, her voice incredulous but also a bit accusatory.

“The Grounders panicked because they’re scared of technology, it’s different”, Clarke explains. “Octavia and Bellamy are from the Ark, they won’t have this kind of irrational reactions.”

Carmilla snorts. “I’ve had enough experience with angry mobs and pitchforks to know that no matter the place, no matter the time, people don’t take the ‘drinks blood and has powers’ concept well.”

“… I don’t want to know”, Clarke mutters. “You showed your powers, or at least a part of them, to both me and Lexa, though.”

“And I still don’t understand why neither of you freaked out”, Carmilla admits. “Well no, you’re insane, so that makes sense for you”, she continues, grumbling, “but I’m not pushing my luck.”

She leaves out the part where she hadn’t fully mentally transitioned out of her long-term panther form yet at the time: she’s a bit too ashamed of that to admit it out loud – not that she’d ever say it to Clarke anyway. She only wanted to have as much fun as possible without really dwelling on the consequences… which honestly didn’t work out too badly for her, but she’s still not taking any chances with more stupid people.

“Could you help us track down Raven?” Clarke asks, dropping the idea of a sneaky approach after all. She’s been insulted enough for one day and she’s clearly losing time for nothing; she might as well get it over with quickly.

“Yeah, sure, do you have anything I could sniff to follow the scent back to her?” Carmilla answers sarcastically. What does Clarke think she is, a police dog?!

“I wasn’t necessarily asking this to you as a panther. You have other powers as well.”

“Let me see… I can barge unnaturally fast in your meeting room and lift the table with one hand while setting the walls on fire, I’m sure that would help you a lot”, Carmilla sasses, which causes Clarke to stare at her with disbelief and a bit of confusion. “I don’t do time travel or mind reading, otherwise, _believe me_ , we wouldn’t be having this conversation”, Carmilla huffs, rolling her eyes.

“Never mind. Forget I asked”, Clarke bites out. “I don’t see why I bother, you clearly don’t care. My room is empty if you want to settle somewhere your precious sleep won’t be disturbed by our talks”, she adds, not trying to hide her annoyance.

And then she turns on her heel, leaving the vampire and her lack of usefulness behind.

“I have no idea what happened!” Carmilla exclaims, offended by Clarke’s reaction, as she proceeds to get up and follow that stupid human to make sure she’s being heard. “I don’t even know who was abducted, I really don’t see how I could help” – she pauses as she remembers that she doesn’t care anyway – “even if I wanted to.”

“Oh. Right”, Clarke says as the vampire catches up to her. She’s too tired to remember who’s supposed to know what – and come to think about it, there’s a strong probability Carmilla doesn’t even associate the name ‘Raven’ with, well, Raven. “She’s the one who had the device at the ceremony. The one whose wrist you almost tried to crush, too”, Clarke grumbles. “We’re trying to find out who took her and why, it’s… complicated.”

“Ah, the last one of that brunette squad of yours! Now we’re making progress”, Carmilla retorts, sarcasm finding its way back into her voice again. “So the girl with the recorder that drove everyone crazy has been kidnapped, and you’re wondering why I don’t want people to know what I can do…”

Since they just reached the meeting room, Clarke doesn’t reply and opens the door instead. “Are you joining us?” she asks, her voice a tired sigh.

Carmilla shrugs and follows Clarke. “I’m too awake to go back to sleep now”, she complains as she leans against the nearest wall.

Octavia side-eyes her majorly but doesn’t say anything, and Carmilla answers with a broad, infuriating smile before ignoring the young woman entirely.

( _“Hey, what if I set these walls on fire after all?”_ the vampire thinks while Clarke goes to sit on the chair next to Lexa. _“That would be fun.”_ )

(She doesn’t want to damage any book, though, so she behaves.)

“As I was saying”, the Commander apparently repeats once Clarke has taken her place around the table, “Titus knows nothing, and not a single person I asked for information this morning has seen Raven in Polis. Whoever abducted her, I fear they took her out of the city immediately and unnoticed. That being said, I do not understand how they hid her, but I doubt this is of any importance.”

“Where does Nia live?” Clarke asks Roan, getting straight to the point. “I’m ready to bet that’s where Raven has been taken.”

“She lives in an ancient castle just outside of Alboli – Azgeda’s Capital –”, Roan states, “but while I understand your suspicions, I do not get what her angle would be.”

“It’s more about the recorder than Raven”, Clarke explains. “And I don’t see who else would have such an interest in it. There’s no way she could have pulled this out alone, though. Do you have any idea who she could be working with? Someone with access to explosives and who knows how to use them?”

Given the lack of questions about what she just said, Clarke assumes Lexa put everyone up to date while she was talking with Carmilla.

Roan hesitates for a moment before he answers. “She might be working alone”, he admits.

Lexa narrows her eyes. “Explain yourself”, she orders coldly.

“Nia has been conducting research about the ancient world for a few years now”, Roan discloses. “As far as I know, it has always been theoretical work, but it is possible she didn’t trust me enough anymore to tell me if she tried to put some of that knowledge into practice recently. Which might have happened following the fall of the Mountain.”

“You never told me about this”, Lexa comments, her voice sharp and reproachful.

“Only a few select people are aware of what I just told you”, Roan continues, his voice staying calm and even. “I didn’t want to reveal this unless it was absolutely necessary. I could have compromised myself greatly had you used that information once without my knowledge.”

“Those few select people, who are they?” Clarke pushes before Lexa can answer. They’re onto something; now’s not the time to start settling political accounts – that will have to wait.

“Three of them were helping with the research, the five other ones are high-ranked spies whom Nia trusts with that information because she believes it might help them make decisions in a situation in which time is critical; add me and her, that is a total of ten. She has already killed, more than once, to make sure the number stays this low.”

“Why were _you_ privy to that information?” Bellamy frowns.

He and Octavia have no idea who Roan is, Clarke realizes only then. The two siblings weren’t present during the negotiations, and the family link between Nia and her son wasn’t said explicitly at the ceremony.

“Roan is the Prince of the Ice Nation”, Clarke explains quickly. “It’s complicated”, she adds before she ends up hearing the same questions she once asked Lexa.

“And he’s going to help us get Raven back?!” Octavia questions, disbelieving.

“If I can, I will”, Roan promises without hesitation, which efficiently makes the young woman shut up immediately.

“If the goal was to make the new Coalition fail, Nia’s best move would have been to arrange for the explosion to happen during the ceremony itself”, Titus points out – which makes it his first even remotely smart intervention ever, Carmilla notes mentally.

“Yes, but time was a factor”, Roan remarks. “And should I remind you that it was planned this way precisely to restrict her room for maneuver?”

“If the person – probably one of the spies you were talking about – who asked Nia for a bomb received it too late, they would’ve had to figure out the next best thing to do”, Clarke deduces. “Which would be: stealing the recorder to get an undeniable proof that Roan pretended to be sent by the Ice Queen during the ceremony, and taking Raven as well since she proved she knows how to use the device… Using the bomb instead of simply opening the door was just an added bonus in this plan – it made _us_ , Skaikru, the prime suspect, which bought them time and could have easily turned into a political mess that would have helped Nia. And it almost worked.”

“Okay, but we weren’t supposed to be in prison”, Bellamy points out.

“The spies I mentioned are high-ranked for a reason”, Roan retorts, slightly scornful. “They know how to adapt to an unexpected situation.”

“We need to find out which one of them was at the ceremony and if they’re still in Polis”, Clarke urges. “We’d better interrogate them and make sure they did send Raven directly to the Ice Nation’s Capital before we storm there.”

“None of them were at the ceremony”, Roan says without an ounce of doubt. “I checked. But it doesn’t mean they didn’t send someone in their stead. They are smart, they knew I would recognize them instantly.”

“This does not help”, Lexa frowns. “I will ask if anyone saw one of the five spies as I did for Raven, but it will take some time – not to mention it’s risky. If they’re still in Polis, they might leave once they realize we are onto them. Still”, she continues, turning to Roan, “I will need their names and descriptions. Better yet, a drawing of each one of them, if you manage. They don’t stand out like Raven does as Skaikru, nobody will recognize them easily.”

“Jirac, Saana, Nihel, Echo and Ellera. The drawings will take more time”, Roan replies.

“Don’t lose your time yet, Queen B’s face went from ‘I hate the world’ to ‘the world hates me’ in a matter of seconds as soon as you said one of those names”, Carmilla comments casually. “He knows something. Or rather someone.”

“Why is she here?” Octavia snaps. “Also who is she and why is she speaking in riddles?!”

“To increase the average IQ of this room. Also, thank you”, Carmilla retorts with an incredibly annoying smirk.

“Who’s ‘Queen B’?” Clarke questions before Octavia can let out a fulminating shout; for once, she’s interested in one of the vampire’s remarks.

“The brunette squad’s big one”, Carmilla answers, which still leaves everyone confused. “Him”, she clarifies with a sigh, pointing to the Bell-something guy whose full name she really can’t recall.

Clarke frowns. “Bellamy? Do you know one of the Ice Nation spies?”

The idea sounds perfectly ridiculous, and yet…

“It’s probably not her, I guess they just share a name”, he shrugs, though he looks very uncomfortable.

“Bell, we have to consider every option”, Octavia says softly, leaning towards him. “Who is it?”

“When I was put in a cage in Mount Weather, the girl next to me was named Echo”, Bellamy details, though a bit reluctantly.

“A cage? This is wild”, Carmilla cuts in and raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, like you wouldn’t know something about it”, Octavia mutters, almost too low for anyone to hear her. She’s starting to have a theory about who Carmilla is, since she isn’t a Grounder.

“Never been a fan of zoos”, the vampire replies with a shrug, though – yet again – she shouldn’t have been able to hear what Octavia just said.

“Quiet”, Lexa orders. She’s getting quite annoyed by the random interruptions, and that’s one too many useless side conversations because of Carmilla in her book.

“ _Please_ ”, Clarke adds through her teeth before the vampire takes the injunction as an opportunity to keep bugging them all.

“They were going to take Echo for the next harvest, but I banged on my cage and they chose me instead”, Bellamy continues before anyone can speak again. “After Maya found me hanging upside down, I promised Echo I’d come back to free her – which I did, but then…” He stops, glancing at the Commander with unease.

“Then you took Cage’s deal and she got out with the others”, Clarke finishes in his stead, looking Lexa in the eye. Her tone isn’t aggressive and not really accusing either, but her glare is still far from friendly. Nevertheless, her lingering resentment is controlled, and no tears are pricking her eyes though they’re unequivocally discussing Mount Weather.

(Which confuses Carmilla a great deal. Last she checked, Clarke turned into a hot mess whenever that Mountain thing was mentioned.)

(It’s not like she cares, though. She’s just wondering when Clarke miraculously had an epiphany.)

(In any case, the whole story is quite confusing.)

(She definitely wasn’t given every juicy detail after all when Clarke had her nervous breakdown a while ago.)

(A shame, really.)

“And that’s the last time you’ve seen Echo?” Octavia pushes. “In Mount Weather?”

Bellamy gulps. “No. She’s in Polis right now, I bumped into her totally randomly right after we arrived, and, uh…” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “She’s currently searching for Raven. I mean, she came to my room yesterday because she heard about the explosion and people were talking about us, uh, from the Ark, being involved or targeted or something, and, uh, she offered to help, and…” he trails off.

Carmilla rolls her eyes. “And he bought it, of course he did”, she grumbles with a deep sigh. “You know that saying?” (That she totally just made up, but nobody needs to know about that.) “The closer to the crime, the less guilty you look, and the less people suspect you…”

(It actually did work for her until… Until.)

(Stupid webcam.)

(Well no, not stupid webcam, it turned out amazing for a while, but the point still stands.)

“Bellamy, _think_ ”, Clarke demands. “Did you give her _any information_ that could have helped an Ice Nation spy, even without realizing it?”

“No, I don’t see… I— I don’t recall…” he says haltingly, feeling his confidence in Echo falter with every passing second.

If something happens to Raven and he’s responsible for it, he’s never going to forgive himself.

“It is nearly impossible to go to Alboli and back in only two days”, Roan mentions. “Either Nia isn’t currently staying there, which from experience I somehow doubt, or you said something you shouldn’t have to Echo the first time you met her”, he adds, his tone rather accusing. He’s not going to coddle anyone at the moment, and _certainly_ not a Skaikru guy that he doesn’t even know.

“I… might have mentioned that we were here for negotiations”, Bellamy admits, though he can’t remember what he said exactly no matter how hard he concentrates. “It’s not like I knew it was supposed to be a big secret, though. Kane and Abby didn’t tell us anything before we left… for a change”, he grumbles. “I mean, we had to fight to join the trip to Polis, and once we were in, we still didn’t know why we were going there exactly. It’s Raven and Lincoln who told O’ and I what little they knew, but nobody bothered to mention that the _Grounders_ of this city had no idea what was going on either!”

“Do you have _any way_ to contact her?” Clarke interrogates, though she tries to keep her cool. Bellamy is certainly guilty of lack of general distrust, but he didn’t mean any harm by catching up with Echo.

“Yeah, I just have to go to the street where we first met, it’s, uh, near the South-East market, I think— I mean, if I recall correctly.”

“And then what?”

Bellamy shrugs slightly. “And then I wait for her there.”

Clarke only glances at Lexa, but it’s enough to know they’ve reached the same conclusion and have the same course of action planned in their minds.

“Bellamy? You’re gonna have to be our bait”, she orders.

“If she is the Azgeda spy indeed, she will have the surroundings of that street under tight surveillance by people who have the same loyalties as her”, Titus remarks. “I fear you cannot go there without raising her suspicions, Heda.”

“Before you start a spyhunt…” Roan interjects as he turns his head towards Bellamy. “Rather tall, sharp features, brown hair, often with blonde locks?”

“Yes”, Bellamy confirms, shrinking in his seat a little.

He can’t seem to decide whether he’d rather the Echo he knows really is the spy: on the one hand, it’d mean that they have a lead, but on the other hand, it’d mean that he’s the one who divulged sensitive information to an enemy. He doesn’t care much that it could have ruined the ceremony or that it threatens the new Coalition – it’s not like he was a fan of the idea of befriending the Grounders to begin with –, but it’d mean that he’s responsible for putting Raven in danger, and _this_ is something that’ll weigh heavily on his conscience if it turns out to be true.

“I believe we are talking about the same Echo”, Roan nods. “Then she can’t see Titus, or Clarke, or me – obviously – either. All of Nia’s well-ranked spies, which obviously include Echo, know who the Commander’s advisor is, and Wanheda’s presence would be quite suspect as well.”

“I refuse to send guards who may be compromised by who knows which promises from Azgeda”, Lexa warns. “This operation is too sensitive for me to take any risks.”

“Number-wise, that will be a problem”, Clarke retorts icily. They have their first real shot at finding Raven, they’re certainly not letting the opportunity pass them by if she has any say in the matter.

(Which definitely includes going head-to-head with Lexa if that’s what it takes.)

(Well, no, not with Lexa. With the Commander.)

“I’d like to be able to say otherwise, but I won’t be enough”, Octavia grumbles. “Even with Bell’s help.”

“Indeed”, Lexa agrees. “Unfortunately—”

“Wait”, Clarke breathes out, cutting her off. “I have an idea, but I doubt any of you are going to like it”, she adds, grimacing a little. “I think there’s someone who could _help_ now…”

Lexa frowns. “Who?”

Clarke doesn’t answer and instead turns around, looking pointedly at the vampire who’s still half-leaning, half-slouched against the wall.

“Carmilla?” Lexa enquires, the question both uncertain and thoughtful.

“Her?!” Octavia chokes out, incredulous.

“… Me?” Carmilla gapes as she waits for a confirmation, suddenly way more focused on what’s going on than she was five seconds ago.

“You, yes. Echo has never seen you, you weren’t among the peace delegation that arrived from Arkadia, and you can totally take her. That kinda makes you the perfect candidate for the job”, Clarke asserts.

“Uh, let me get this straight… Two seconds ago you were accusing me of kidnapping a girl, and now you want me to kidnap another girl?!” Carmilla exclaims, her eyes still open wide. “Am I the only one seeing the irony here?!” she adds when she realizes it doesn’t seem to faze anyone to ask her to do precisely what they accused her of not half an hour ago.

(That’s definitely one thing she didn’t see coming.)

(Last time something like this happened, _she_ was the one getting abducted.)

(Which she’s still mortified about, actually. Not to mention the garlic necklace was ridiculous.)

“ _I_ did not accuse you”, Lexa points out, “but I will indeed ask if you would agree to help us arrest – not abduct – Echo now.”

“You could help with the interrogation afterwards”, Clarke offers, trying to make the situation more appealing to Carmilla. “As long as Echo stays in one piece”, she warns, though, before there can be any talks of cutting off fingers like it happened with Roan.

“Or we could just wait until Echo comes to my room to give me an update?” Bellamy suggests, not liking where this is going at all – as in: the involvement of someone who needs to be reminded not to use awful physical torture before the person is even in their hands. “She’s supposed to do that.”

“We don’t know when it’ll be”, Clarke remarks. “We can’t just wait for Echo to show herself. Carmilla?”

“So you’re asking me to arrest and ‘‘‘interrogate’’’ some girl”, Carmilla summarizes, drawing tons of air quotes since Clarke’s notion of questioning someone is closer to casual conversation than an actual interrogation, “and I would do that… Why? Out of the kindness of my heart?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes while side-eyeing the little group (… which is harder than it seems, she discovers). And then she sighs, because she’s actually considering the idea, and… And she can’t believe she’s going to do it, but hey, at least it’ll be better than standing in a room listening to boring people talk, so… “That actually sounds like fun”, she grumbles; then she adds, much to half of the room’s surprise: “Okay, fine, I’ll do it.”

“Thank you”, Clarke blurts out, and for once since the vampire prevented her from ending up as a full-time Ice Nation prisoner, she actually means it again.

Carmilla gives her a weird look and shrugs. “Don’t. I’m not doing it for you.”

Clarke gets a flash of déjà vu at that. Not so long ago, Lexa was thanking _her_ for participating in the discussions regarding what to do about the Ice Nation threat, and she was answering the exact same thing.

(She doubts Carmilla is doing this for her people, though.)

“Just one thing”, Lexa chimes in. “You will have to wear some of our clothes so you don’t stand out too much in the crowd. Your regular outfit is… unusual.”

“Oh please, I would stand out anyway”, Carmilla smirks and wiggles her eyebrows. “But alright, chief, should we also use code names?”

“Code names?” Lexa repeats, completely lost, as she decides to let the ‘chief’ slide this time for efficiency purposes. (And at least, it’s slightly better than ‘Captain’…)

“You’ll be Raccoon”, Carmilla starts quite gleefully, though she’s still saying this mostly to make fun of Lexa and the others. Pointing to Clarke, she continues: “She’s the Babbler. And I’ll be—”

“This is not a bad 21st century novel, and we don’t have time for these games”, Octavia hisses through gritted teeth.

It’s bad enough that they’re involving Carmilla, who she knows close to nothing about (though her most recent theory would explain why everything surrounding that woman is such a mystery), but listening to her as she invents stupid code names for everyone really is one notch too high at the moment.

Next to her, Bellamy stays silent. He looks despondent since Roan confirmed that the Echo he knows is most probably the spy responsible for Raven’s disappearance, which Octavia can understand – though her brother will have to shake himself out of it soon.

Carmilla sighs. “Can it be a solo mission? Because putting up with Buzzkiller while Pity-Party… plays the rabbit’s part, might make me reconsider this.”

“No”, Clarke replies before any questions can be asked about the rabbit bait reference or Carmilla’s nicknames in general. “Bellamy needs to be there so Echo comes to talk to him; Octavia will go with you because she speaks Trigedasleng – gibberish, if you prefer – and will blend in more easily with the Grounders.”

“Whatever”, Carmilla grumbles and rolls her eyes, just as she realizes that literally everyone’s code name could be ‘Buzzkiller’, not just Octavia’s.

Why are they _always_ so serious?

Anyway, that’s how she ends up in a street filled with potential snacks she can’t touch, dressed in tatters that would itch like hell if she hadn’t kept her leather underneath them, forced to listen to either gibberish or to incessant questioning, and bored out of her mind.

She never thought she’d miss spending time with Clarke.

 

* * *

 

Two hours. It’s been two damn hours since they arrived here and the only thing that’s happened so far is…

“You’re from Mount Weather and you got the bone marrow treatment, I figured that out. What I don’t get is why you’re so strong and why you have super-hearing when none of the others did”, Octavia whispers without looking at Carmilla. Her eyes scan the crowd relentlessly instead, in case she were to notice anything suspect. “Are you another one of their little experiments? Did they mess with your genetics or something?” she questions again, since she didn’t get a proper answer the last hundred times she asked. “Raven would know more about this stuff”, she adds under her breath, trying to channel her frustration and her fear, while Carmilla huffs next to her.

“Well then _maybe_ you should wait for her to actually _be here_ ”, the vampire retorts, her voice reaching sky high levels of annoyance.

This. This is what’s been happening for the past two hours.

She’s had to use every ounce of patience she doesn’t have to begin with to refrain herself from killing Buzzkiller. Pun slightly intended.

“Are you ever going to answer properly or are you just going to pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about until the end of time?!” Octavia scowls.

“Sounds like a nice plan to me”, Carmilla shrugs.

She only vaguely understands the bone marrow story since she has long forgotten half of what Clarke once told her about that Mountain she’s crazy about, she has no idea what the rest of the experiments are supposed to be or if they ever existed in something else than Octavia’s imagination to begin with, but she still plays it casual and secretive because it’s actually a great cover story – and she didn’t even have to bother finding it herself, Octavia handed it to her on a silver platter.

The great part about how the human mind works is that the less she says, the less she’s at risk of betraying just how much she _doesn’t understand_ the questions, the more mysterious she appears… and the more credible she’ll be in the end. Not to mention it means the nosy dwarf won’t start getting too close to the very vampire-y truth.

In short, there’s everything in it for her, _apart from the insufferable questioning_.

She swears, she’s going to kill Octavia soon if the target doesn’t join the human rabbit ASAP.

*

Unfortunately, she still has to bear with the inquisitor for a good half hour before she finally gets some action – which is about time, because she was honestly close to losing it entirely.

She fleetingly wonders how much Clarke will mind if Echo is a little banged up when they get back before she realizes she definitely doesn’t care about that, so she decides to get some fun to compensate for the hell she’s just been put through.

As soon as Bellamy awkwardly does the hand gesture they settled on to signal the person he’s talking to is Echo, Carmilla pushes herself from the wall she was leaning against and casually walks towards the pair. Echo’s eyes follow her for a split second before she apparently decides there’s no reason to feel threatened – which amuses Carmilla a great deal –, and Bellamy keeps monopolizing her attention by blurting out a long series of questions with rapid-fire speed.

This is going to be so easy it’s almost disappointing.

Carmilla goes to stand just a few feet behind Echo and grins at Bellamy who’s looking at her nervously before she scoffs: “And you call yourself a spy.”

Truth be told, she almost gets taken by surprise by how fast Echo’s reflexes are, but her vampiric speed gives her an undeniable advantage that makes pinning the spy to the ground right after she turns around child’s play anyway.

“See? I didn’t even need an explosion”, Carmilla shrugs nonchalantly.

And then she releases her hold on Echo, which causes Bellamy to gape at her and Octavia – who just joined them – to fulminate.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“I’m giving her a five-second head start before I come after her again”, Carmilla states with a wicked smile.

Echo jumps to her feet at that, but she doesn’t try to get away. Quite the contrary, actually, since she hits Bellamy harshly in the stomach with her elbow to temporarily incapacitate him before she attempts to knock Carmilla out – though to absolutely no avail.

As for Octavia, she reluctantly gets away from the semblance of a fight when three warriors appear in her field of view, coming from other streets nearby. Thankfully, nobody else intervenes; despite the density of the crowd, everyone avoids the altercation – often not even paying attention to it. The people of Polis are apparently used to ignoring random street brawls, which works in their favor and prevents Carmilla from creating too much of a mess.

As soon as he manages to force air into his lungs again, Bellamy goes to assist his sister. They have, or at least should have, a small advantage over their opponents since Lexa gave them a knife each; but obviously, it won’t be of much help if the warriors they’re about to fight don’t respect the rule of Polis that forbids carrying a weapon in the city’s enclosure either…

Which, _of course_ , they indeed don’t.

The first guy that Octavia faces wasn’t expecting her to be armed too, though, so she manages to slice his right arm open by relying on the element of surprise.

That’s one thing she quickly learnt when Indra was training her for war three months ago: if you know you can’t win a fight just by force, then use trickery. And even though, in this particular case, some Grounders would probably argue about honor and fair fights or something, Octavia doesn’t care much about that at the moment. Indra spent the whole morning reminding her that she currently can’t win against a skilled opponent without some ruse, so she’s well aware that if she wants to make it out of that fight alive, she has to use _every_ resource she has.

Which includes this trick that Lincoln taught her: cutting someone’s arm open in the right place renders them unable to close their fist – because of nerves or something, Abby explained from the other side of the room, but Octavia didn’t pay much attention. She was much more interested in the result than the reason why, and said result is an opponent unable to hold their weapon.

It’s the first time she actually watches it happen, though, and she’s glad to see it indeed works.

As the warrior looks down in surprise at his knife falling onto the ground while his face contorts with pain, she elbows him in the sternum then hits him on the head hard enough to knock him unconscious.

One down.

Now, she’s got to help Bellamy.

*

Meanwhile, Carmilla keeps avoiding Echo’s blows almost nonchalantly, while wondering why everyone keeps insisting on ruining her afternoon. She would be having a lot more fun right now if that stupid spy had run away according to plan, but this? This is just boring.

She makes Echo lose balance again once she’s had enough and smirks broadly as the young woman lands roughly on her back; without wasting any time, she then sits on her stomach and immobilizes her wrists easily. After that, Carmilla lets Echo struggle uselessly under her grasp for about five seconds before she decides it’s time to end this: given their ridiculous strength and speed, humans trying to fight her off are never entertaining for long.

(And if she smashes Echo’s head against the ground a bit too harshly, nobody gets to complain about it. After the two and a half hours she’s just had to endure, she deserves to let her annoyance out a little.)

As she gets back up, she sends the foolish warrior that dares attack her flying against the nearest wall – though this time, unlike with the guards in front of Clarke’s bedroom door, she’s careful not to use too much of her powers so it doesn’t look suspect –, then she takes in the situation while she lifts Echo onto her shoulder.

Bellamy and Octavia are fighting the same guy; or rather, merely trying to block his path without ending up with a knife in their face, Carmilla notes. Queen B’s gestures are extremely awkward, as if it were his first time experiencing close combat, and though Buzzkiller is a little less ridiculous, their situation isn’t glorious overall.

Well, she can’t say she’s surprised.

Sighing, Carmilla heads in their direction – since she’s _definitely not_ going to be the one to carry a dead weight back to the tower – and approaches the warrior from behind while he’s focused on Bellamy and Octavia. It takes her about two seconds to knock him out, and then she lets Echo fall to the ground in front of the two siblings.

“My job here is done”, she asserts. Turning to Bellamy, she sighs again and adds: “Stop gaping. Be useful.”

Neither of them has time to utter a word before she moves away and starts leaving, but Carmilla does hear Octavia’s subsequent “seriously?!” quite clearly, so she turns her head just enough to call over her shoulder: “See you later!”

The wink, the smirk and the little hand wave with wiggling fingers are just added bonuses to infuriate Octavia even more.

 

* * *

 

In the end, it’s Bellamy who has to carry Echo back all the way to the tower. Of course, Carmilla arrives there way before the two siblings and their prisoner do, but all she can tell Clarke and Lexa who are waiting in front of the entrance is something along the lines of ‘Buzzkiller and Pity-Party should arrive shortly with the package, no idea which streets they’ll take to come back, you might get the three guys working with your spy before they wake up if you’re fast’… And then she moves up to the library to wait for the interrogation to start.

In other words: it doesn’t exactly help Clarke and Lexa figure out where to go to help Bellamy, but at least the Commander can send some people to retrieve the three warriors who tried to defend Echo.

(It turns out that one of them was a guard who supposedly worked for her, as she learns later on while they wait for Echo to wake up.)

(She was, of course, right not to trust anyone with this arrest.)

They get the story of what happened exactly when the two siblings arrive – from Octavia, who has a hard time calming down as she describes how Carmilla almost let Echo go just to play cat and mouse. Clarke sighs internally but doesn’t try to explain the vampire’s behavior; ‘that’s her panther side’ somehow sounds like something Carmilla would not appreciate being heard by any unknowing ears, and it’s quite difficult to guarantee Echo had no chance of getting away no matter what head start Carmilla gave her without raising Octavia’s suspicions even more.

Anyway, as Clarke points out to try to put things into perspective, the most important part is that their plan worked. The rest doesn’t really matter.

They shackle Echo’s wrists and ankles to a wall in what appears to be an interrogation room a few floors above the library, and then they have nothing to do but wait until she wakes up. While Clarke, Lexa, Titus and Roan just sit in silence, Octavia and Bellamy take advantage of that time to patch up the superficial cuts on their skin and examine the bruises appearing on their bodies following their fight with the second warrior; once they’re done, they join the others in their staring at Echo while willing her to open her eyes.

Given how roughhoused she was by Carmilla, though, they fear that might take a while.

*

Indeed, it takes almost an hour for Echo to regain consciousness, and the first thing she says as soon as she does is: “Bellamy? What does this mean?”

Clarke has to give it to her, she’s a good actress. The frightened tone, the curled-up defensive position and the wide eyes are quite convincing, but none of it lasts very long.

“You can stop pretending”, Roan says very calmly from the corner he’s standing in; the darkness made it impossible to identify him so far. “They already know who you are.”

Echo straightens up immediately, her attitude changing entirely, and she stares at him defiantly. “What am I being accused of?”

“What did you do to her?” Bellamy questions, his eyes burning with anger and fear as well as unshed tears. “What did you do to Raven?”

“I did nothing to her. I was trying to find her to help you”, Echo retorts, her voice unwavering.

Clarke moves closer to her and stares her down. “That will be easy to prove”, she claims. “You may not know much about our technology, but it can do wonders. There is a thing called DNA that identifies every person on Earth with absolute certainty, and we found some of it on the prison floor. It’s not something you can see, but it’s something we can detect, and if I take some of your skin, I can extract your DNA to compare it to the traces that were left behind. If they match, we’ll confirm you’re responsible for Raven’s abduction, so you might as well stop acting as if you were innocent right now.”

She’s bluffing, of course – they absolutely don’t have the means to do any of this –, but Echo can’t tell what’s true and what’s not anyway. Clarke just needs to _sound_ one hundred percent confident to make it look like a truthful assertion.

“I do not believe you”, the Ice Nation spy spits out.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matters”, Clarke shrugs, “because the Commander does. And she’s the one I have to convince, not you.”

Echo narrows her eyes and glances at Lexa, who confirms with a sharp nod. This is an idea Clarke shared with her beforehand, and she agreed to play along though she doesn’t understand a single (even remotely) science-y word.

“I am sorry about your girlfriend”, Echo tells Bellamy in a quite sincere tone, and then she stops speaking entirely.

“Girlfriend?” Clarke enquires, surprised, while Lexa interrogates Echo in Trigedasleng. “You’re dating Raven?”

“Wow, welcome to the present”, Octavia drawls sarcastically.

Come to think about it, Abby did say something like ‘Bellamy came to Polis because Raven came’ at some point a few days ago, but Clarke didn’t read too much into it at the time – not to mention she had other things to worry about when the peace delegation arrived.

“Wasn’t Raven with Wick when I left?” she frowns, a little lost.

“He tried to tell her what to do with her body a bit too much”, Octavia brushes off. “And that’s _really_ what we should be talking about right now. No doubt about that.”

Clarke lets out a puff of air through her nose. “I’m as worried about Raven as you are, but I don’t understand most of what Lexa is saying, so I might as well get up to date on what happened in Arkadia while we wait”, she says, glancing towards Echo who’s staying completely mute.

“We’ve been dating for a few weeks”, Bellamy finally answers, hoping it will appease his sister a little. Octavia’s been on edge since she learnt about Raven’s disappearance, and it doesn’t take much for her to snap at someone.

Clarke smiles a little. “I’m happy for you”, she says with genuine gladness. Bellamy and Raven both deserve to be with someone kind and supportive, who will be there for them no matter what.

She doesn’t get a reply because the conversation is cut short by the Commander, who turns away from Echo and tells Titus: “Lid Karmila in hir. Hos op.”

The advisor nods and leaves while Lexa walks up to Clarke, Octavia and Bellamy.

“Echo won’t talk”, she affirms in a low voice. “Threats and intimidation techniques do not even make her blink. Titus will get back with Carmilla shortly. Roan told me she can be quite… convincing.”

Octavia frowns at the last sentence, clearly wondering when and why the Prince of the Ice Nation discovered that, but she doesn’t get any further explanation and she doesn’t ask either. The question is hardly a priority.

“But I still doubt it will work on her”, Roan remarks, moving closer to the group. “She’s likely been trained to handle physical harm since she was five.”

Clarke’s eyes open wide. “Five?!”

“Nia chooses children who show promising abilities very early. Their mental and physical conditioning afterwards is hardly what you’d call gentle”, Roan details.

Instead of replying, Clarke moves around him and towards Echo who watches her approach with narrowed eyes.

“I’d really like to avoid having to resort to torture”, she assures, “but whether or not it’ll come down to that is up to you.”

“You can go as far as killing me if it pleases you. I do not fear pain or death”, Echo asserts, her eyes bored into Clarke’s.

“We’ll see about that”, Clarke replies, resigned. She really doesn’t like the idea of letting Carmilla have her way with Echo, but unfortunately, it’s not like they have another option. Either they make her talk so they know _exactly_ where Raven has been taken, or they’re back to square one.

*

It’s not long until Carmilla arrives, following Titus who looks very displeased.

(No doubt it’s because the vampire made tons of comments he didn’t like one bit on their way up…)

As soon as they enter the room, Carmilla looks at Echo – who hasn’t moved an inch; she’s still sitting against the wall with the shackles on – and then glares at Clarke.

“I swear, if you dragged me up here but end up forbidding me to do this interrogation the way I want to, you’re going to join her soon”, Carmilla promises, irritation clear in her voice. The book she was reading was starting to become interesting, so she’d better not have had to come up here for nothing.

“Just keep her in one piece and without too much blood loss”, Clarke grumbles.

She’s seen first hand Carmilla’s enthusiasm for… enhanced interrogation techniques when Roan was their prisoner. She really doesn’t like this _at all_ , but she’s willing to do what it takes to get Raven back, so she puts her doubts and her reluctance aside.

Carmilla sighs. “Alright. Everybody out.”

“No”, Bellamy replies forcefully. “I’m not leaving _her_ alone with Echo!”

Despite knowing he got played and his fear for Raven’s life, a part of him still cares about Echo, and he can’t bring himself to agree to put her through what’s probably going to be incredibly painful torture. Much less if he can’t see what’s being done to her.

“That wasn’t a request”, Carmilla retorts.

“Bellamy, I don’t like this any more than you do, but we don’t have another option”, Clarke points out. “Come on, let’s go.”

Lexa nods. “Follow me.”

“Bell, let’s go”, Octavia insists when her brother doesn’t move. After what Echo did, she personally has zero empathy for the spy.

Bellamy finally, reluctantly follows the others though the decision is obviously uncomfortable for him, and that’s how Carmilla ends up alone in the room with Echo.

Finally something interesting to do. It was about time.

She walks up to Echo and squats right in front of her so they’re at eye level. “Yup, me again”, she says, her voice devoid of any trace of playfulness. “We both know that I wouldn’t be here if you were willing to talk, so I’m not going to try and interrogate you.” She puts her hand on Echo’s throat before she continues: “I want to make one thing clear first. I have no idea who you are.”

As she starts pushing a finger against the pressure point located below the Adam’s apple, which she knows is going to begin to hurt in less than a second, she stares right into Echo’s eyes. She wants to make sure her prisoner understands that she’s not the kind of person who minds killing someone – and that she’d have no issue disobeying Clarke’s command about how the torture should go, for that matter.

“I have no idea who that girl you kidnapped is.”

She presses a little bit harder, though not enough for the pain to be unbearable yet.

“In other words, I don’t care whether you talk or not. I don’t care whether you live or not.”

She keeps increasing the pressure steadily and Echo’s eyes start widening, which makes a dangerous and scary gleam appear in Carmilla’s ones.

“I’m just here to see if you’re going to break. And I don’t want to lose my time, so it’s going to be pretty quick”, she adds, her finger now digging into Echo’s throat.

With her other hand, she twists the shackles to prevent a foot from meeting her knee quite uncomfortably.

“Tsk tsk, I already proved once that struggling is useless with me”, Carmilla scolds, her voice staying perfectly calm and controlled. “I was saying, this is going to be pretty quick”, she repeats, intensifying the pressure, “but painful.”

Carmilla has to give it to Echo, the girl has some impressive self-control: the only noise she manages to get from her is a whimper – though to be fair, since her trachea is half-crushed at this point, the spy would clearly have trouble screaming.

The vampire keeps pressing until she’s sure she’d do irreversible damage leading to a good ol’ murder if she pushed just a little more, then stops and sighs as she removes her hand. This is entirely useless: Echo was still staring at her defiantly despite the fact that she was close to choking to death, so there’s little point in continuing this questioning session.

Not to mention it’s not even remotely amusing to torture someone who can handle it that well.

Carmilla gets back up and walks to the door behind which Clarke and the others disappeared just a minute ago, but she stops and turns around before she opens it. “You know, you’re saying things even when you’re not talking”, she says pensively, and then she slips out of the room.

“That was fast”, Clarke comments worryingly as soon as she sees her.

“Torture won’t make her talk and I have a book to finish”, Carmilla replies with a shrug. She’s not going to waste any more time on this than what’s strictly necessary.

“Did you learn _anything_?” Lexa quizzes.

“That torture will not make her talk”, Carmilla repeats, speaking slightly slower than the first time. She loves trolling people, and the question is badly worded to begin with.

“Did you learn anything _useful_?” Lexa clarifies. She had forgotten that the vampire is the queen of not answering direct questions.

Carmilla could easily continue like this for a while, but getting back to her book right now is _really_ tempting, so she doesn’t make the discussion drag on.

“Torture works because people can’t get past the pain. That girl in there can because there’s something, or someone, scarier for her than being hurt or killed”, Carmilla explains. “She’s afraid to talk because somehow it would be worse than whatever pain I could inflict on her, or even death. It’s no fun, really.”

“She’s been trained to resist torture her whole life”, Roan mentions.

Carmilla looks at him condescendingly. “There is a difference between resisting torture because you learned to and because you don’t have any other choice”, she sneers. That difference is the little hint of despair in someone’s eyes, and she knows she saw it in Echo’s, though it was well hidden. “But I guess subtlety isn’t your thing”, she adds with the same tone. “Anyway, I’ll be on my way now. Stay out of it. After today, I need to wash all of you out of my system.”

Nobody calls after her and she gets out of the room in silence, more than ready and eager to get some peace and quiet for a while.

*

Clarke frowns and turns to Roan. “Tell me everything you know about Nia’s spies”, she demands.

“Where are you going with this question?” Lexa enquires, not following Clarke’s trail of thoughts.

“We need to figure out what Echo is scared of if we want to get something out of her. If Nia controls her spies by threatening them, we might be able to offer Echo a deal to make her talk.”

Lexa doesn’t look particularly convinced, but she still orders Roan: “Answer Clarke.”

“I don’t know much more than what I already told you, at least about her high-ranked spies. They are unwaveringly loyal to her – which is, as much as their skills, the reason for their status –, and they report to her and her only. That is about as much useful information as I have, unless you wish to hear details about their training?” Roan asks with a tinge of irony.

“That won’t be necessary”, Clarke mutters. She’s had to deal with torture enough for one day already – and probably for the rest of her life as well, actually. “Could those spies’ unwavering loyalty to Nia come from fear?”

“It’s possible, but doubtful”, Roan contemplates. “It is more likely the result of years of mental conditioning and indoctrination.”

“Then who would Echo be scared of, if it’s not Nia?!” Clarke exclaims, feeling hopelessness seeping into her mind again. If the only lead they have turns out to be useless, their chances of finding Raven alive and well will drop drastically.

“Let me talk to her”, Bellamy chimes in. “Maybe she’ll say something to me – something that could help us even if she doesn’t realize it.”

“Not a chance this happens”, Roan retorts. “She’s too skilled to betray herself in any way.”

“It’s worth a try”, Clarke counters. “Bellamy, go in there and see if you at least manage to make her say something.”

She actually agrees with Roan, but she understands Bellamy’s need to do something instead of feeling completely helpless – she even shares it. Unfortunately, until they can get into Echo’s mind, they won’t make any progress and they’ll keep being stuck here.

Bellamy leaves without a word and silence settles in behind him.

“What do we do now?” Octavia asks after a while. She’s been pacing endlessly in the room since Carmilla left, and inaction is starting to drive her crazy.

“I’m out of ideas”, Clarke admits, though she hates that fact. All of her remaining energy is being poured into trying to keep at bay the tears and the horrible images that want to fill her mind again, not to mention she’s absolutely exhausted.

Next to her, Lexa shakes herself out of her reflection and looks at Roan. “What happens to a spy who does not complete a mission?” she asks. “I know Nia well enough to be certain she wouldn’t take failure lightly.”

“The lowest-ranked ones are killed. I don’t recall any high-ranked spy like Echo failing even once. It has never happened – at least not that I have been made aware of.”

“She was caught by the Mountain Men”, Lexa points out.

Clarke’s eyes widen and she strides to the door wordlessly as things click into place in her mind; she joins Bellamy in the interrogation room before anyone has time to ask her what she’s doing and why.

She takes a deep breath as she goes to sit in front of Echo, trying to clear her mind a little. No matter how hard it is for her, she needs to forget about the Ice Nation spy’s involvement in Raven’s disappearance for a moment.

“She won’t talk”, Bellamy admits when she joins him, and he sounds as desperate as he looks.

Clarke nods. “I know.” She then looks Echo in the eye and plasters a gentle expression on her face. “I have a theory. You tell me how far from the truth I am, okay?” Without waiting for a response that she knows won’t come anyway, she continues: “When you were captured by the Mountain Men, you thought you’d never see the light of day again, because no one ever did. You were trying to last for as long as you could in that cage, but you didn’t have much doubt about the ultimate issue. Eventually, against all odds, you made it out of Mount Weather; after that, you went back to the only thing you’d known your entire life: the Ice Nation. Nia. Where else would you go? Since you were a kid, you were taught to worship her. You had always been loyal to her, you never doubted her; she’d always been the only constant in your life. But when you arrived, it didn’t exactly go as planned, did it? Because the only thing she cared about wasn’t you, but the fact that you failed her. You were in a mission when you were captured, so you never finished it, and she punished you for that.”

Echo still doesn’t say anything, her features stay perfectly schooled, but her eyes flash with a mix of anger and pain, and it gives Clarke the confirmation she needs.

“You weren’t killed like you thought maybe you’d be. I’m sure you considered this eventuality, but you still went back to Nia and put your life in her hands, because you would have done anything for her. You were trained to be hers and hers only for years, after all. Am I wrong?”

Echo keeps staring at her without blinking, still mute, but Clarke’s question was rhetorical.

“The only reason someone would rather die than talk is because they’re protecting someone. And that’s what this is all about: if you tell us anything, a person you love is going to die. I’m ready to bet that’s how Nia punished you – by taking someone close to you hostage to make sure you have twice as much motivation as you did before to _not_ fail her again. So now you don’t just obey because you’re loyal to her anymore, you obey mostly because you’re terrified of her and of what she could do.”

Bellamy’s eyes turn soft as he listens to Clarke’s theory and he moves a hand forward to squeeze Echo’s arm, but she jerks away from the touch – as much as the shackles allow her to, anyway. He doesn’t insist; he doesn’t want to antagonize her, he mostly wanted to get her attention.

“Echo, I understand”, he assures. “I understand because I’m ready to do the impossible to get Raven back if I have to. And I’m sure we can work something out together – we can free you, whoever your Queen has in her power, and Raven at the same time. Let us help you”, he pleads, holding back tears.

Echo chuckles harshly. “No one can help me but her”, she asserts forcefully, though it comes out throaty and wheezy: her trachea has far from recovered from the pressure Carmilla put on it.

Clarke almost lets out a sigh of relief at the sound of Echo’s voice. She’s finally talking; they’re making progress. Now they just have to proceed with caution.

“Despite what she’s doing to you, you still… You keep believing in her”, Clarke notes, her words tentative.

Echo snaps her attention back to Clarke. “You could not understand”, she snarls. “My Queen is stronger than you will ever be in your dreams. Her power knows no bounds. You are nothing. You cannot help me, and no one should defy her decisions. She answers to no law, she is the ultimate judge. I deserve whichever retribution she saw fit for me.”

“I don’t think you truly believe what you’re saying”, Clarke whispers. “Not anymore. This is your training speaking, not you. _You_ ’ve started questioning everything you’ve ever been taught since Mount Weather. Since things have stopped adding up.”

“You do not know anything about me”, Echo spits out.

“Maybe not. But I know a thing or two about what _happened_ to you”, Clarke replies. “I know the Mountain Men put you in a cage. I know Nia didn’t lift a finger to help you. I know she didn’t attack the place or bargain to get you out, because you mean nothing to her. You’re only important to her when she can use you.”

Echo grits her teeth but says nothing this time, which is how Clarke knows she’s struck a chord.

“But see, I also know the people who have helped you. Bellamy almost died just to save you, and later on he got you out of your cage. The Commander made the deal that allowed you to see the light of day again, without fighting in Mount Weather and potentially dying there. As for me? I suppose you know me by the name of Wanheda, the one who fell the Mountain.”

Clarke swallows with difficulty. These words are costing her a lot.

“Nia never even breached their defenses – or dared try to, I’m sure. _I_ did _much_ more than just get inside. So how is your Queen any stronger than me?”

She hates the Grounders’ logic, she _despises_ it, but she has to speak from a point of view that Echo will understand if she wants to get her point across.

“If anyone can help you now, it’s us, certainly not Nia who’s the one hurting you to begin with”, Clarke finishes.

The microscopic glimmer of doubt that her speech has lit in Echo’s eyes is the first big step in the right direction that they’ve made all day, and Clarke has to force herself to remain calm and patient at the sight of it. She has planted seeds, now the roots have to spread in Echo’s mind. Despite the urgency, they can’t rush her; otherwise, they might cause her to completely dig her heels and stop talking for good.

“Please tell us what you did with Raven”, Bellamy implores her.

Echo turns her head to the side and refuses to meet his gaze again, so Clarke gets up and motions for Bellamy to do the same.

“I understand this is a lot to take in for you, so we’re going to give you some time to think”, Clarke states evenly. “Just consider this: if you reject our help, whoever it is you’re protecting will stay in Nia’s power until she realizes you’re not coming back, and then they’ll die; it won’t matter to the Ice Queen whether you’ve talked or not. We’re offering you a way out. If I were you, I’d take it. Bellamy, come on.”

He doesn’t protest and follows her as she turns around and walks away from Echo, then gets out of the room entirely.

When Octavia sees them, she rushes to them immediately and asks: “Did you get anything out of her?”

“Not yet, but we might”, Clarke answers, trying to feel at least somewhat hopeful. “I think I’ve shaken her quite a bit.”

 

* * *

 

“I want to talk to Wanheda and the Commander”, Echo says as soon as Bellamy tries to go into the room again after a while.

“Oh, uh, okay, I’ll get them”, he replies, the request taking him by surprise, before turning around to pass the message on to Clarke and Lexa.

“So, did you change your mind about not saying anything?” Clarke enquires once they’re in front of Echo.

“My parents have been working as slaves in the Queen’s castle since I came back from the Mountain. This was not my punishment – my sister’s execution was”, Echo rasps, her voice still impacted by Carmilla’s short torture session. “If my Queen learns I told you even the slightest piece of information, she will kill one of them right away. I want to know how you plan to extract them before that happens, and to get the Commander’s word they will be protected in Polis afterwards. Otherwise, you will get nothing from me.”

Lexa turns away without a word and joins the rest of the group in the other room again; confused, Clarke follows her with a delay, leaving Echo alone once more.

“I cannot agree to this rescue if Raven is not in Alboli as well”, Lexa states. “My interference in Azgeda’s affairs would not be justified, and I would be serving Nia an occasion to challenge me on a silver platter.”

“Is Echo talking?” Octavia asks, pressing, but her question stays unanswered.

“And what if Raven is in Nia’s castle too?” Clarke pushes. “We’ve already established that’s most likely the case. How do we get her back if Echo confirms this? How do we intervene?”

“I cannot openly support an attack on Azgeda territory either”, Lexa says calmly. “If we were not to find Raven – if we got caught or if she had already been moved –, it would be Echo’s word against Nia’s.”

“Nobody would trust a spy’s word over a Queen’s, so our efforts towards peace would be ruined”, Roan finishes in Lexa’s stead.

“I can’t fucking believe it”, Octavia spits out. “Should’ve known. The only thing you’re good at doing is bailing.”

“And you are very quick to judge what you refuse to spend time to understand”, Lexa hisses back.

It’s very obvious that she doesn’t like Octavia any more than Octavia appreciates her, and the only reason why she’s making an effort not to spill blood in spite of the blatant provocation is because she knows that Clarke would never forgive her if she purposely harmed one of her friends.

“Besides, I did not say I couldn’t _help_ you”, Lexa continues. “I said I cannot _openly support_ an attack, which is different. Are you two willing to risk your life for Raven?” she asks Octavia and Bellamy.

“Yes”, they answer at the same time.

“Even without being certain she’s still alive?”

“She is”, Octavia retorts. “You don’t know her. She’s a fighter, and she’s probably making everyone’s life hell at the moment. If the Ice Queen wants something from her, let me tell you, she’s not going to get it easily.”

“Very well”, Lexa nods, not commenting on the vigorous assertion. “Then Raven stands a chance.”

Octavia arches a brow. “Care to elaborate?”

“I will not lose time on this before we’re certain Raven is in Nia’s castle”, Lexa answers.

“And how do we do that when we can’t give Echo the guarantee that we will help her parents too if Raven is somewhere else?” Clarke questions.

Roan narrows his eyes as he makes every bit of information he has fit together to reveal the bigger picture before cutting in the conversation. “You give me ten minutes alone with her”, he says as he moves towards the door.

Octavia watches him go, then turns back to the Commander. “Well, I guess now we have time, don’t we?”

Lexa glares at her, but she starts her explanation nonetheless.

“Clarke and I will leave for Alboli as an official delegation to question Nia about the emissaries she sent to Skaikru. It will, of course, be a distraction; Bellamy and Octavia, you two will follow us from a distance, with Roan to guide you. The attention will be focused on us, which will help you avoid detection. You will have to infiltrate Nia’s castle and find Raven there by yourselves – Roan cannot go with you: his presence unannounced after the role he played during the ceremony would give you away immediately. I cannot have guards accompany you either for fear of treason”, Lexa acknowledges.

It’s the same problem than the one they had with Echo’s arrest: she’s not one hundred percent sure who she can trust with such a sensitive issue. Besides, ever since Gustus betrayed her because he wanted to protect her, she’s been twice as wary of almost all of her people as she was before – she now knows that people who mean well can be working against her all the same.

“If you were to be caught, I would deny any knowledge of the operation”, the Commander guarantees. “This is a risk you need to be willing to take.”

Both Bellamy and Octavia nod firmly, so Lexa finishes by simply saying: “Good. Then now we wait.”

 

* * *

 

“Raven is indeed in Nia’s castle”, Roan confirms as soon as he gets back into the room where the others are waiting.

“How can you be sure she didn’t lie to you?” Clarke asks. “She seems smart enough to figure out her parents have a better chance of being rescued if we go to Alboli”, she remarks.

“Yes, and then they would be killed alongside her for her treachery”, Roan points out.

“Why did she talk to you without my promise?” Lexa questions.

“I bettered your deal”, Roan answers, evasive. “And now she also has an interest in your long-awaited wish being fulfilled”, he adds, looking the Commander in the eye to make sure she knows exactly what he’s talking about and what he’s implying.

Clarke frowns. “What does this mean?”

“It means we might get to kill two birds with one stone”, Lexa answers, which is in no way any more explicit.

“How do we know she’s not leading us into a trap?” Bellamy asks hesitantly. He fell for Echo’s lies once; no way he’s not being wary the second time around. He really wants to believe that she’s saying the truth, though.

Roan shakes his head a little. “The only reason why she would do that is if she had a way to communicate with Nia to tell her about what’s happening, which she currently doesn’t. And to make sure it stays that way, we are taking her with us.”

“Handling a prisoner in a small group forced to travel fast and hidden won’t be easy”, Clarke remarks.

“She’ll cooperate. We’ll manage”, Roan assures.

“Then it is settled”, Lexa decides. “We will leave first light tomorrow. Everyone, have a good night of sleep; we will not get much rest during the coming days.”

“Hmm, one thing before that”, Clarke muses, not really realizing she’s saying her thoughts out loud.

She greatly dislikes the idea of Bellamy and Octavia going inside Nia’s castle alone – if they get made, their odds of survival will immediately drop to a level close to zero –, so she’s been thinking about what she could do to improve Lexa’s plan since she heard it… And she’s finally had a eureka moment.

The Commander tilts her head to the side. “What would that thing be?”

Clarke sighs in advance. Her idea requires her having what will probably be a pretty uncomfortable conversation in a minute or two, which she’s not looking forward to at all, but she’s certain it’s their best chance, so she’ll gladly do it.

She just has to muster some courage beforehand.

 

* * *

 

“Carmilla? How much do you like all-you-can-eat buffets?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Chon yu bilaik?” = “Who are you?”  
> “Lid Karmila in hir. Hos op.” = “Bring Carmilla here. Hurry.”  
> \----------  
> Disclaimer: Math is actually great and I love it! (Co-writer did too, once upon a time... And then university attacked.) (BUT ANYWAY MATH IS AMAZING) (Yes, this felt like an important note somehow. We’re weird.)  
> (Also please, @ everyone who’s seen BTVS, tell me I’m not the only one who hears Carmilla’s “whatever” with vampire!Willow’s voice?!)


	10. Part II: White - Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood / 'Graphic depictions of violence' applies (as usual in this part of the fic).
> 
> We are updating earlier than a month later, guys, it's a miracle! (Shhhh, one day totally counts as 'earlier'.) My Internet is BACK TO NORMAL (*sobs with relief, happy dances*) and even though separating chapters in part III is a mess (yeah, also, there'll be 6 chapters in the end, not 5, nobody's surprised), we're finally writing properly again. Except I haven't edited anything for months, so now I'm in the middle of doing 7 chapters - 13/14k each - in a row and I want death. WRITING IS FUN, PEOPLE. (Read: I'm totally a masochist.) (Oh well!)
> 
> (Co-writer wants me to add: "If anyone is wondering what kind of schedule you can expect for the next updates, I'd say that once every two months is a reasonable assumption... and that it may seem long, but the chapters are long as well! :D")
> 
> Fair warning before I let you read the chapter: I'm a rider. And I totally used some scenes as an excuse to learn/translate some specific vocabulary that I knew only in French. Sorry but also not sorry? xD  
> \----------  
> “Coming together is a beginning; keeping together is progress; working together is success.” - Henry Ford

“Do you have a really weird notion of appetizers or did you forget to mention one _teeny-tiny_ detail?” Carmilla asks, quite irritated, as soon as she finds the part of the stable where Clarke and Lexa are preparing their horses.

Horses.

Of course.

She should have known there was a catch, _as usual_.

Wincing a little, Clarke whirls around swiftly at the sound of the vampire’s voice and looks around as discreetly as possible to make sure that no one is paying attention to Carmilla. Roan and the others are getting ready in a wooden annex, not in the main building of the stable: no one from the second group is supposed to be anywhere near the official expedition so that they don’t draw attention to themselves, but of course Carmilla doesn’t care about that.

And since experience has taught Clarke that there’s no way the vampire will go away without speaking her mind and getting an explanation first, they might as well try to get it over with quickly.

“I—”

“Never mind”, Carmilla continues, cutting Clarke off since she already knows the answer to her own question anyway. Besides, the annoying blonde’s voice sounded like it’d be as convincing as the fake sheepish expression on her face. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t go back to your room and sleep instead of going on a who-knows-how-long trip?!”

“… Free food?” Clarke grimaces a little.

She didn’t tell Carmilla absolutely every detail about the expedition to Azgeda the previous day, and it was for a reason. The vampire was reluctant enough at the mention of ‘not in Polis’ and ‘you’ll be travelling with Bellamy, Octavia, Roan and Echo’, there was no need to mention _how_ they would be going to Alboli and _how long_ it would take them.

And, well, Clarke had hoped that Carmilla would be in a better mood the following morning – which… is apparently really not the case –, so the discovery of the horses would not be that hard of a pill to swallow.

After all, it’s more comfortable than to hike on foot, right?

Right?

Fail.

“This whole city _is_ free food AND doesn’t require me to go on a fucking road trip”, Carmilla retorts icily, feeling more and more annoyed by the second.

She should have said no the previous day directly – or at least asked more questions before accepting, come to think about it… –, that would have saved her some trouble.

“You are still sleeping in Clarke’s bedroom”, Lexa mentions almost casually, in what is a statement more than a question.

“And I’m wearing leather”, the vampire deadpans.

Of course, as usual, Lexa doesn’t understand her regular type of sarcasm, so Carmilla huffs and grumbles a question that will make more sense to the Commander.

“What’s your point?”

“Would you like to have your own room once we come back?” Lexa offers, knowing it’s something that could be appealing to Carmilla.

The vampire ponders the proposition for a while. The idea of having her own space where no one will ever come bother her or yell at her to get out of bed is appealing, but is it worth it enough to put up with the upcoming trip?

“How soon until I see your magical castle pop up on the horizon exactly?” Carmilla enquires warily.

“We should all arrive tomorrow night”, Clarke promises.

“It’d better be an amazing room”, Carmilla finally accepts, though reluctantly. “A room that I’ll leave _only_ on my account.”

She swears, though, this trip on horseback is the last thing she does for these two stupid humans. At least for a good long while.

Lexa nods. “Agreed.”

Clarke holds back a sigh of relief. This solution suits her just as much as it does Carmilla, if not more… Lexa just had a really perfect idea, that’s the least she can say. When the vampire hailed her, Clarke was certainly not expecting the situation to end this well.

Miracles happen from time to time, it would seem.

“Great. Let’s get this over with”, Carmilla mutters as she turns around and leaves.

If she has to sit on a saddle for two full days without anything else to do, though, she’s definitely taking a book or two with her to pass the time, so she’s making a detour by the library to grab some before she comes back to the stable. And that’s non-negotiable – if they have to delay their departure because of that, well, she _really_ doesn’t care.

 

* * *

 

“Wow, we almost had to wait for you”, Octavia bites out when Carmilla joins them again. (They’ve been waiting impatiently for fifteen good minutes since the moment they were supposed to leave, actually, which translates to over half an hour since Carmilla first saw the horses and turned around without a word.) “Don’t you know we’re supposed to hurry?!”

Carmilla doesn’t even dignify this with an answer.

“Your horse”, Roan says evenly as he hands her the reins.

He’s the only one who’s still on foot; Bellamy and Octavia are already ready to go, and Echo is tied up on a mount that has been equipped with… Well, Carmilla couldn’t tell what exactly, but the point is that Echo can’t press her legs against the horse’s sides, so she can’t make her mount speed up any more than she can slow it down since her hands are bound behind her back.

To handle a prisoner on a horseback trip easily, that’s a smart precaution.

Carmilla takes the reins of her own mare with a sigh. Welcome back to the pre-cars era that she was so glad to have left behind centuries ago!

“Do you at least know how to ride?” Octavia asks, slightly scornful, while the vampire puts her foot in the left stirrup after sliding her books in the saddlebags.

Carmilla mounts and looks at her condescendingly. “Please, watch and learn”, she sneers.

It’s been over two hundred years since the last time she rode a horse, but it’s like cycling, it’s not something you forget… Well, at least, she hopes that’s indeed true. Otherwise, she’ll just adapt – and probably _still_ do much better than Bellamy, who looks like he’s never put his ass on a saddle before.

Which is probably the case.

Great.

She’s travelling with a girl she tortured, a guy she almost tortured, another girl she’d really like to torture and that useless guy who can’t even ride.

The next two days should be fun.

(Not.)

*

The trip is even less fun than she envisioned, actually, because they spend half of the time galloping in the never-ending plains they travel through once they’re out of the woods surrounding Polis – which means that it’s not exactly super comfortable to read –, and the other half of the time, she can’t get five damn minutes of quiet. There’s _always_ someone talking, which is incredibly annoying; so after the first few hours of this catastrophe, Carmilla warns everyone that she’ll be following them from a short distance, and then she makes her horse spin around.

(She hears some protests about ‘staying in a small group’ and ‘discretion’, but she doesn’t pay any attention to them.)

(Besides, they quickly fade away behind her anyway.)

If her mount is reluctant to separate from the others at first, it doesn’t last very long. Carmilla merely has to stay firm in her commands to efficiently calm her mare down pretty fast.

Honestly, she’s been surprised by how easily her reflexes are coming back. She’s not complaining at all – it made controlling her horse much easier than she had anticipated –, but she truly wasn’t expecting her body to react the way it did. As soon as she was seated properly, she didn’t have to think most of her actions through: they just came naturally, automatically, as if she had never lost the habit of riding.

So, it really is like cycling after all.

(Though she’s not ready to bet she wouldn’t fall off a bike, actually, but that’s beside the point.)

Once she decides that she’s at a reasonable distance behind the others, far enough not to hear their voices too much with her heightened senses but still close enough to see them, Carmilla makes her horse turns back around and gets her book out of the saddlebags.

She just hopes that they won’t start galloping again during the next hour or so. She’d really like to know the end of that story now.

 

* * *

 

They barely sleep the first night. Since they have to take a winding route to avoid crossing paths with Azgeda villages or warrior camps, they move more slowly than Clarke and Lexa’s official expedition, which means that they have to catch up while it’s dark outside. Thankfully, Roan knows his clan’s territory like the back of his hand, so they don’t ride completely blindly despite not being able to light up a torch.

Forced to stay closer to the rest of the group, Carmilla is in a rotten mood the entire time until they finally stop to rest a little, but the others don’t pay attention to her: Roan keeps teaching Octavia specific words of the Azgeda dialect of Trigedasleng, making her repeat them again and again until her pronunciation is correct enough to fool the guards she’ll be talking to in Nia’s castle, while Bellamy just tries to pick up the very basics of the language. There’s no way he’ll speak well enough to make full sentences in two days, but, at least, if someone talks to him, he’ll be able to give a terse answer. (Maybe.) (Nothing could be less certain, but at least he’s trying.)

Ideally, it would have been best if Carmilla had been listening too, but everyone is wise enough to leave her be and not ask anything more from her than her simple presence. Even Octavia agrees that there would be no point in wasting time arguing uselessly, in spite of being pissed off a great deal by Carmilla’s attitude.

As for Echo, she’s as silent as the vampire the entire first day and night. She endures the galloping phases without batting an eye even though her position is clearly uncomfortable – her thighs are tied to the saddle, Carmilla notices at some point –, and the vampire can’t help but note how skilled a rider she is: despite her hands being tied behind her back, her body still follows the horse’s movements easily at every pace, keeping her position flawless the entire time – which is not only pretty impressive, but also indicates an undeniably long history of riding.

Carmilla, on the other hand, gets reminded of her utter lack of practice as soon as she jumps down from her mare, once Roan makes them halt in a small forest for the night. Her ass is on fire, the muscles of her thighs are aching horribly, her back and her shoulders are also sore from having stayed in the same position for too long, and all she wants is to curl up in a ball somewhere while her vampire constitution rids her of this pain ASAP.

(She honestly didn’t think she’d be hurting _that much_. In her memory, it wasn’t quite enjoyable, but nothing close to _that_  – loss of habit, hello!)

(Why did she agree to this again?)

(A room, right.)

(On second thought, she’s not sure it was worth it after all.)

She removes her horse’s bridle in one swift movement, fastens a snap hook into both the halter and a loop of the long rope that Roan is tying around a tree – a system Carmilla supposes the horses are used to –, and then she leaves without a word. Someone else will probably deal with the saddle later, but it certainly won’t be her.

“Where do you think you’re going?!” Octavia calls after her, exasperated. “We’re setting up for the night!”

“And I don’t want to be near you all idiots snoring and shuffling while I’m trying to sleep. I’ll be at a safe distance, just call my name when we need to leave”, Carmilla replies, not even bothering to turn around to do so.

She barely took a nap during the past thirty-six hours; all she wants right now is some decent sleep, and since this is certainly not happening in her human form, she needs to put some distance between the group and her in order to turn into a panther and settle on the ground somewhere.

That, and the reason she actually said out loud, of course.

“You sure you’ll hear it?” Octavia enquires. “You’ll be sleeping and we can’t exactly yell!”

The vampire doesn’t bother to answer this time.

 

* * *

 

While Carmilla’s muscles are completely functional again the next morning when they leave at an awfully ungodly hour, Bellamy and Octavia are suffering a lot more, and they both pull a face as they mount then try to find a comfortable posture on their saddles. The ache from the previous day got worse during the night since their muscles cooled down, so the sitting position is now closer to a nightmare than anything else.

“Don’t expect any improvement today”, Roan warns.

“Thanks, I really needed some positive thinking right now”, Octavia mumbles as her horse starts walking, following Echo’s one, which is controlled by Roan.

“I hope you’re not in too much pain”, a really, _really_ annoying voice comments sarcastically behind her.

Since Bellamy’s groan seems like the only appropriate answer to this, Octavia decides to focus on her own body rather than on truly unwelcome remarks, and she keeps looking straight ahead instead of acknowledging that she’s heard Carmilla. Assuming that the annoying woman keeps her distance like the previous day, it won’t be long until they’re not within earshot of each other anyway, so there’s really no need to divert her attention from where it’s most needed.

*

Their first gallop lasts almost an hour and, just like the ones of the previous day, it leaves the horses sweating quite profusely.

Not long after they’d left Polis, Octavia had asked Roan why he had chosen to make them progress like that, and the answer had been a laconic ‘more efficient than trotting’ that hadn’t particularly convinced her at the time. Now, though, she understands a bit better: at least, they get to breathe and rest for a while between each gallop, while trotting most of the time would be something closer to torture with an already aching body – not to mention that Bellamy has never attempted to go at a posting trot in his life and would probably spend his time bouncing off his saddle. Despite her time serving as Indra’s second, Octavia herself hasn’t ridden that many times in her life and she has far from mastered both the posting trot and the sitting trot, so… Roan’s choice makes sense, actually. It’s not about efficiency for the horses; it’s about dealing with everything but skilled riders. At least while they gallop, they can rise in their stirrups and wait for time to pass until their next pause.

When your muscles are already begging for mercy, though, the minutes seem to tick by excruciatingly slowly.

Bellamy falls during the second galloping session. He gets back up and remounts without a word, but his teeth are gritted and it’s clear that he’ll need quite a while to rest properly after they get back from Alboli.

He probably won’t approach a horse for a while if he can, too, which is understandable; to be fair, such an expedition is hardly the best introduction to riding there is.

Echo must take pity on him or something because, during their next pause, she finally relents and gives him a detailed explanation of what really happened with Raven, the massacre and the bomb. He’s been asking since they left and during most of his shift during the night since Echo wasn’t sleeping either, but she had refused to answer so far.

“After you revealed that negotiations to make Skaikru a new clan were under way, I sent a messenger to Alboli to relay the information to my Queen. It was not hard to deduce there would be an official ceremony if the negotiations succeeded, so I asked for a ‘package’ to use then if she thought it was appropriate for the situation; as I expected, she indeed chose not to come to Polis, but to send the messenger back with an explosive.”

Nia’s decision was smart: without knowledge of the exact date of the ceremony at the time, the fastest option was also the better. Besides, had the Queen arrived to confront the Commander not long after said date was revealed, she would have betrayed her spying since proving that she was in Alboli and left prior to the announcement would not have been hard.

“I had planned to use the explosive to disrupt the ceremony”, Echo continues, “but I received it an hour too late. From then on, I had to determine the new best course of action, and sending the box that records voices – the one with the Commander’s symbol – to my Queen was the best plan I could think of.”

The next part of the story had pretty much been figured out by Clarke and the others already. Echo had ordered several Azgeda warriors living in Polis to help her kill the guards controlling the elevator – replacing them with two of her guys – as well as those watching the prison’s floor, and then had sent her accomplices to recover the recording device while she used the bomb to open Raven’s cell, hoping to make the Arkers look guilty by doing so and to buy Nia some time. She and the warriors had finally hidden an unconscious Raven in furs to get her out of the city without raising suspicions, and had used the elevator to block the way down from the upper, occupied floors of the tower.

Echo has to take a small break before she gets to the last part. Her throat is better than it was two days ago, but it’s still not fully healed.

“I gave strict instructions to two warriors”, she continues a few minutes later. “They were to bring Raven and the box to the Queen in Alboli as fast as they could while I stayed in Polis to follow the aftermath.” Glancing at Bellamy then looking straight ahead again, Echo finishes by saying: “Speaking to you was the easiest way to know what direction your investigation was headed towards.”

She just hadn’t planned that she’d also end up being made because of that.

Octavia pushes her horse into a trot for a few steps in order to get at Echo and Bellamy’s level. “And so you’re sure Raven is still in Alboli _because_?” she enquires with a mistrustful frown.

“I cannot guarantee it”, Echo replies, “but I see no reason why she would not still be in the Queen’s castle – unless she talked and is already dead.”

“Whatever the torture, Raven is resisting”, Bellamy asserts.

Echo shakes her head once, sharply. “You do not know the Queen.”

“And you don’t know what Raven’s already been through”, Octavia retorts. “She won’t break that easily. But if that castle is a dead end, then I swear…” she trails off.

“I have as much to lose as you”, Echo hisses back, then clamps her mouth shut again.

For all she knows, Nia might have hurt or killed her parents already, just for getting the news that the ceremony could not be disrupted by the explosion as planned – even though it was a timing issue and not her fault. The Queen is neither known for taking circumstances into account when she chooses a punishment, nor for being clement with those.

Since Echo is back to being mute, Roan decides it’s time to make Octavia revise her Trigedasleng, so he asks her to translate several words and then corrects her when her accent is too thick. Bellamy doesn’t participate in the learning session this time, smartly choosing to focus his energy on trying to find a (not too un)comfortable position on his saddle rather than on words from a language that he doesn’t speak anyway.

 

* * *

 

They catch sight of three groups of Azgeda warriors in the distance before Roan makes them halt in a thicket and dismount.

“We are nearing the most densely inhabited part of my clan’s territory”, he explains as he rummages through the saddlebags. “We need to put on war paint now before we begin crossing paths with other people regularly, otherwise we will look suspect in no time.”

“The more you talk, the less sane you sound. Seriously, what’s the next step, we all dance while beating the drums to make the rain fall?!” Carmilla exclaims, half-scoffing and half-incredulous.

“I expected such a reaction”, Roan replies evenly, opening another saddlebag and grabbing a mask that he hands to her without a word.

Carmilla stares at it for several seconds before snapping her eyes back up and glaring at Roan. “It’d better be black war paint.”

(She’s definitely not touching this weird mask that comes from who-knows-where and that looks, well, plain ridiculous.)

(So on second thought, the war paint is not such a bad idea after all.)

Octavia snorts and sneers: “If you want everyone to think you’re Trikru, sure, but that’s really not the goal here!”

Since she doesn’t understand and honestly doesn’t want to know the meaning of the dwarf’s words, Carmilla ignores the interruption, sighs and grumbles: “As long as it’s not pink…”

Roan shakes his head once. “It is white. I will apply the right pattern. Try not to move”, he says as he opens the jar containing the paint.

“Silly me, I thought it would be more efficient if I were dancing at the same time”, Carmilla retorts as she rolls her eyes, then sits on the ground with her back against the trunk of a tree.

No way she’s not at least resting a little if she has to go through this.

“How are you not cold with the way you’re dressed?” Octavia suddenly asks, detailing Carmilla’s outfit for the first time since they left. Skin-tight dark jeans, a shirt and a quite worn out leather jacket in what are probably sub-freezing temperatures… None of those seem particularly ideal.

Bellamy, Roan, Echo and herself have been wearing fur-lined clothes since they stopped for the night, and for every hour they spent moving north today, the wind on their face got icier and icier. That doesn’t seem to be a problem for Carmilla, though, because while Octavia feels chilly since they dismounted… that weird girl is not even close to shivering.

“Uuuuh”, the vampire lets out, taken by surprise. She didn’t pay any attention to everyone’s clothing so far, so she didn’t realize that it’s supposed to be freezing outside. “I’m cold, I’m just better than you at not showing it”, she quickly answers, trying to find an explanation for her lack of perception of the current air temperature. “Besides, nobody warned me that we were going to the North Pole. Your blonde friend told me it was a two-day trip about five minutes before we left”, she grouches.

“Stop talking”, Roan cuts in. “I cannot apply war paint properly if your face keeps moving.”

“Next time you give me an order, I’m finally killing you”, Carmilla replies very casually.

Octavia gives her a weird look before continuing her questioning. “Why didn’t you change, then?”

Carmilla shrugs, causing Roan to glare at her even more than he did before. “I didn’t pack anything.”

“Of course, you didn’t even prepare your horse either”, Octavia mutters.

“Again, I wasn’t aware of that part of the deal”, Carmilla retorts, almost hissing the words through her teeth.

“I packed warm clothes for you”, Roan says with a sigh. “You can don them once I’m done.” Turning his head to make eye contact with Octavia, he then demands: “Stop asking questions. The faster this is over, the better.”

The young woman nods and clamps her mouth shut, while Carmilla groans internally and tries to find a way out of this whole clothes situation… Except there isn’t one, because not putting them on would raise the dwarf’s suspicions again, and she _really_ doesn’t need that to happen.

So, here she goes for that carnival of sorts. Costumes and make-up, yay! When’s the parade starting?

(She’s joking, but actually, this is in no way her definition of fun.)

(Except it’s her life at the moment.)

(What did she ever do to the universe?!)

(Okay, she’s never been an angel, far from it, but this? This feels somehow even worse than what she deserves.)

Once Roan is done with Carmilla, he moves on to Bellamy, who doesn’t move an inch while intricate patterns are being drawn on his face, and then to Octavia, who doesn’t say anything either though she looks very thoughtful.

It’s when Roan starts tracing white lines on Echo’s skin that Octavia finally asks the question that’s been nagging at her brain.

“Why do we need to wear war paint exactly? Isn’t it used mostly during conflicts?”

“We put it on much more often in Azgeda”, Roan replies laconically.

Octavia doesn’t push and decides to eat something instead before they remount; Bellamy imitates her, while Carmilla merely keeps scowling at the entire world. The warm Grounder clothes she had to put on are just… urgh.

Roan ends the pause once he’s applied his own war paint with dexterity – the kind that can only come from years of habit –, and as soon as they’re out of the thicket, they break into a gallop again.

Carmilla groans loudly but presses her mare’s sides with her calves anyway, and silently curses Octavia when she realizes just how annoying her new outfit is. She kept her own clothes under the ones Roan had packed for her – because _duh_ , itchy –, but the result is that she now looks like the Michelin Man in ski pants and a winter coat, which is… _not exactly_ close to breeches and a blouson. She’s known _much better_ clothes for freedom of movement.

Like, say, _her own regular outfit_.

Except she’s now stuck with wearing those fur-lined things, and she kind of feels like a bear attempting to go at a rising gallop.

Seriously, that has to be the worst ride of her life. A hell of a trip turned trip to hell.

Clarke is so going to pay for this.

 

* * *

 

The pauses become shorter and less frequent during the afternoon, which kind of makes Bellamy almost wish he were anywhere but here at the moment, and when Octavia asks Roan if they’re behind on the schedule or something, he shakes his head. “No. I have changed my plans.”

“Would you care to share what the new one is?” Octavia huffs. “Because my brother’s gonna fall for the second time today if you keep this up, and I’m so numb I can’t really guarantee I won’t either!”

“We are going faster so we can arrive before Clarke and the Commander do. That will allow you to take some time to rest before you enter the castle. You look like you will need it”, Roan replies tersely.

Octavia has to admit that he has a point there, so she sighs and stops talking. She then shifts on her saddle until she finds a position that feels slightly more comfortable than her previous one; she knows it won’t last since every last muscle in her body is apparently aching, but she’ll take it anyway. Any small improvement is more than welcome at this point.

*

They stop taking roundabouts, too. Roan explains to the rest of the group that there are so many villages near Alboli that it would be complicated to steer clear of them all; besides, it would look suspect for sure now that they can’t avoid being noticed regularly by warriors on horseback or other people on foot. The point of their meandering route so far was to stay out of anyone’s sight so that there would be no risk of Nia being notified that a group from Trikru territory – a group that _wasn’t_ the official diplomatic expedition – was headed to Alboli too, but since now they appear just like every other Azgeda traveller and there’s no way to tell where they come from exactly, they don’t need to hide anymore.

Octavia has to make her horse walk in front of Roan’s, though, after a villager details the Ice Nation Prince’s features for just a bit too long to his liking. Despite his hood lowered over his face, he’s apparently still too recognizable, so he settles for putting on the mask originally meant for Carmilla – but said mask means that he’s supposed to be a warrior who’s low in rank, so he can’t lead the group anymore. It suits his new role of ‘just handling the prisoner’s horse’ well, at least, but it also means that Octavia will have to do the talking if anyone speaks to them… Which might or might not turn out to be a problem depending on the complexity of the sentences.

After the first few salutes, Roan decides to solve the issue by ordering Octavia to canter, hoping they can go at this pace until they reach the vicinity of Nia’s castle. A faster gallop would have been better, sure, but the ground is too uneven to allow it near Alboli, and half of the group don’t control their horses well enough to react properly if they were to unexpectedly cross paths with someone among the few scrawny trees that occupy the land between the villages anyway.

*

They canter for over an hour and a half before Roan makes them stop and walk again, which must be as much of a relief for the horses as it is for the humans (and the vampire).

“We are almost there”, he announces. “We will arrive at the meeting place in about fifteen minutes, when the horses will have recovered.” Pointing to a construction that still looks small in the distance, he adds: “This is Nia’s castle.”

“Finally”, Octavia breathes out in relief; behind her, Bellamy swears he could almost cry of delight at this point.

He tries really hard not to think about the fact that they’ll be breaking into Nia’s castle soon. That would kind of ruin his joy, since walking (worse: running, if something goes wrong) in his current state sounds… entirely like a nightmare.

“We will stop in these woods”, Roan continues, indicating a quite large and dense gathering of resinous trees a little to their left. “They are the closest place to the castle where we can take some rest, and where I can watch Echo once you three leave.”

“Which will be in how long exactly?” Octavia enquires.

“After Clarke and the Commander arrive and request an immediate audience with the Queen.”

“So we have no idea when it is”, Octavia translates. “Great.”

Roan nods as a confirmation, and then silence settles in again, only broken by the horses who continue catching their breaths.

 

* * *

 

The wait lasts almost two hours.

It begins with Roan explaining to Octavia and Bellamy how to sneak into the castle – through a door leading to the kitchens, one that doesn’t close properly anymore – while Carmilla settles farther away with the book she started early in the afternoon, and it ends when the Prince spots the political expedition finally appearing in the distance.

Everyone had been silent for a while in the middle of the small woods, Bellamy and Octavia trying to rest as best as they can, so Roan’s nearing footsteps cause them to startle awake.

“Clarke and the Commander are approaching. Move. Warm up your muscles. Stretch. Get ready”, he orders Bellamy and Octavia before turning around and disappearing among the trees again.

They understand the command once they stand up: their entire bodies are stiffened, they feel numb, and something as simple as walking awakens the ache due to the two-day-long ride again. The cold is clearly not helping – though, as Roan put it soon after they arrived in the woods: ‘we’re lucky, at least it’s not snowing’.

Sure. Thank god for small mercies.

While Bellamy and Octavia are quite obviously suffering at the moment, Carmilla, on the other hand, looks perfectly fine, just like Echo and Roan do – which is a good thing, really, since she’s the one who’s supposed to handle the bulk of the fights if it comes down to that. Octavia still doesn’t understand how one single person could manage to get them out of that castle alive if the situation were to degenerate, but Clarke seemed really sure of herself on this… and it’s not like they have an alternative anyway.

*

The two siblings have been working on restoring proper blood flow in their bodies for about ten minutes when Roan comes back from the edge of the woods again.

“I have signalled our presence to the Commander; I believe they will set camp nearby and send an emissary to Nia immediately. You have to leave now, move closer to the castle. Wait until you see Clarke and the Commander being invited in to enter as well”, he advises. “Darkness will be your best ally until then.”

Carmilla gets up, stretches her arms and joins her two sidekicks of the day. “As it always is”, she replies in all seriousness, though a little wistfully.

Darkness has always been her territory, her advantage, at least since…

Well. She got used to being a vampire a long time ago now.

 

* * *

 

Lexa gives the order to stop and set up camp not long after they pass by the small woods where she spotted Roan signalling the other group’s presence. The fact that they’re already here is good news: it means that she can send an emissary to request an audience with the Ice Queen immediately, and so that’s what she does. The faster they act, the better it is for Raven.

“How long do you think it will take for Nia to respond to the request?” Clarke asks nervously next to her.

They’re sitting on a small wooden bench while their hair are being braided properly again after a night of sleeping on them, and Clarke has trouble staying still. It’s due, for sure, to the pain in her muscles as well as to the cold, but she knows it also has to do with how on edge she feels.

What if it’s too late?

What if the others can’t find Raven in Nia’s castle?

What then?

Lexa sighs. “You need to relax, Clarke. The emissary should be back soon. It is merely a formality; as the Commander of the clans, I shall be granted any audience I request.”

Clarke sighs as well, though much more deeply. “I know. You told me already.”

They’ve been ‘rehearsing’ their upcoming conversation with Nia for the past two days, but she can’t stop herself from asking the same questions again and again anyway. It gives her the impression of doing something instead of just waiting.

It’s honestly a good thing that the only two members of the expedition who speak English are Lexa and her – she’s not sure she would have been able to shut up during the entire trip if that had not been the case. Lexa explained to her that quite a number of her personal guards speak only Trigedasleng so that they can be at her side during formal meetings without compromising either her security or the confidentiality of the discussions, and Clarke had to admit that ruling over a partially bilingual people has its perks. As she discovered while they made their way to Alboli, having private conversations in front of clueless people can be pretty damn amazing when you’re stuck somewhere with no option to isolate yourself.

*

The emissary comes back right after Lexa finishes applying her regular war paint. Clarke chose not to wear any this time, unlike at the ceremony, judging that there was no need for her to.

They leave for the castle on horseback and dismount in front of the gates, then enter on foot with ten guards accompanying them while two others take care of the horses – refusing to guide them into the Queen’s stables, as the Commander ordered them to. They walk along immense corridors as they follow three of Nia’s servants, and it takes them about ten minutes to finally reach the Ice Nation’s equivalent of the throne room in the Commander’s tower – except both as are different as they can be.

Because this one is… Well, Clarke has never seen anything like it. Sure, in some movies, perhaps, but standing there is a whole other experience, one that she knows she won’t forget anytime soon. It’s like the first time she saw Lexa’s room, except the one she’s currently standing in the threshold of is ten times bigger and just… something else entirely.

The ceiling is almost thirty feet high, which makes Clarke’s head spin a little; having grown up on the Ark and its small corridors, she just finds the scale of the room close to immoderate. The walls to her sides are about a hundred feet away from one another and the length of the room is at least thrice that amount, which is gigantic even in comparison with the corridors they walked through to get here. She feels minuscule next to the statues and other massive sculptures that line the walls in carved stone, and it takes her a moment to realize that there are other human beings in the room – that it’s not just filled with objects which make her wonder if she travelled backwards in time to about four centuries ago.

Since it’s dark outside, numerous candelabra have been lit and placed on small wooden tables that are the only touch of color in the otherwise grayscale room, but the stage-like part in front of the vast windows on the side opposite Clarke is mostly devoid of any source of light. A chandelier is hanging above the steps leading to that platform, though, but there are no candles on its branches, which renders it as useless as it gets. As a result, the white throne overlooking the room can’t be spotted immediately despite its size, because anyone’s eyes are drawn to the decor first, just the way it happened to Clarke.

Once she gets accustomed to staring into the darkness, she notes the presence of about a dozen guards surrounding the throne, on which is seated a woman whose features she can’t quite make out. Clad in what appears to be a dress made of white furs, the Ice Queen is staring right at them, and Clarke immediately feels ill at ease once she becomes aware of the weight of that gaze.

Forcing herself to stop gaping at the room, she blinks several times in quick succession to pull herself fully back to reality while also trying to regain control over the fast beating of her heart. Everything here screams ‘excessive’, and Clarke understands immediately why Nia chose to make this castle her home, for the dimensions of the place certainly match those of her ego.

(Meanwhile, now that the first feelings accompanying the discovery are fading away, the size of the room makes Clarke more uncomfortable than anything else.)

(Which is most probably the very goal of receiving people here.)

(Nia certainly knows what she’s doing.)

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Leksa kom Trikru?” the Ice Queen enquires, getting up and stepping down the stairs so that she enters the illuminated part of the room.

Her voice is low and controlled but slightly ironical, honeyed and fawning yet chilling in its coldness, and Clarke gives up on trying to find an adjective that would describe it properly when it makes a shiver run down her spine.

The woman in front of them is dangerous. Immensely dangerous.

It’s obvious in her attitude, in her tone, in her aura, in the slight smirk spreading on her face; it’s obvious in everything she is, and suddenly Clarke makes a mental note to thank Lexa again for preventing her from ending up meeting Nia as a prisoner a few weeks ago.

Speaking of Lexa, Clarke can almost _feel_ the Commander tensing up next to her, instead of just seeing it from the corner of her eye. She has no doubt it mostly comes from not being referred to by her title, but Clarke can’t help but wonder if just hearing Nia’s voice doesn’t also bring back memories that would best be left in the past.

In any case, Lexa doesn’t let the Queen get under her skin, and she keeps her usual fierce gait as she walks up to the middle of the room where the other woman has stopped; Clarke, on the other hand, stays rooted to the spot. Every fiber of her being is fighting against the idea of getting closer to the Ice Queen – closer to simmering danger.

“I am here on behalf of Skaikru, Nia kom Azgeda”, Lexa declares in a strong voice that echoes around the room; her tone stays even, though she doesn’t bother to fully hide her disdain at the mention of Nia’s name.

So that’s how it’s going to play out, Clarke realizes as she listens to the exchange. The meeting will be nothing but a subtle twisted game of hate and power – innocent in appearance, yet potentially lethal if one of them were to cross the line they’re already dancing around, upping one another at every step.

Refuse to refer to Lexa by her title of Commander? She’ll return the favor and not pronounce the word ‘Queen’, while also adding insult to injury just with the way she speaks.

Only two sentences were uttered in the room so far, but one thing is already crystal clear for Clarke.

The scene that’s unfolding in front of her? There’s no way it could ever end well.

“You lower yourself to represent people who have invaded your land? You disappoint me, Lexa. Even in my memory you were not that weak”, Nia comments, the ghost of a mocking smile dancing on her lips, though her tone stays perfectly neutral.

Clarke’s eyes widen a little.

Well, that escalated quickly.

“The Commander’s decisions are neither your concern nor open for discussion. Criticism from any of my subjects is unwarranted, insults are considered treason. You might wish to keep those facts in mind for the rest of the day”, Lexa replies calmly – and if Clarke hadn’t understood the words, she could have sworn they were about something as trivial as the weather, not about putting Nia in her place and issuing a warning.

“I see you gained in confidence since the last time you were in this room”, the Ice Queen notes, choosing not to insult the Commander too openly anymore – at least for the time being.

“I gained power over you as well”, Lexa replies, her tone still not betraying even a hint of emotions. “Klark kom Skaikru, you may come.”

Clarke takes a deep breath and forces her feet to move forward, though her entire body is screaming at her to turn away from the electric atmosphere in the middle of the room. It’s like walking towards a brewing thunderstorm that could explode in lightning at any moment, and with every step she takes, Clarke feels more and more tense. The Ice Queen is the kind of people that she wants nothing to do with – the kind of people who exude threat just by existing, who would make anyone’s skin crawl; yet Lexa is standing right in front of her as if she weren’t affected in the slightest, and Clarke feels a whole new level of respect for the Commander just at this sight.

Especially since she knows the bloody history between the two women currently engaging in a duel of willpower in front of her.

She wants to squirm away from Nia as soon as she reaches Lexa’s side, but she doesn’t; she keeps her chin high, and tries to appear as regal as the Commander, hoping she’s doing a good enough job at it.

“Welcome, Wanheda”, the Ice Queen greets her, though her eyes don’t leave Lexa’s. It’s like the line they’re dancing around is the one shaped by their gazes, and if one of them were to break eye contact, they would concede too much ground to ever recover.

This is _so_ not how Clarke had envisioned this confrontation to unfold.

Now that she has met Nia, though, she doesn’t see how it could have ever gone any other way.

“I have received a report from my people”, Clarke says, her voice staying miraculously steady and self-assured – the same way she managed not to flinch at the name ‘Wanheda’. “Three of your warriors reached our gates with an offer. One you didn’t consult the Commander about.”

“I did not have to”, Nia dismisses. “You are not a clan. You are neither planned nor included in any of Lexa’s laws.”

“They are now”, the Commander retorts – and they all know Nia is already aware of that, though she’s apparently settled for pretending otherwise. “I am in my right to demand an explanation.”

The Ice Queen raises an eyebrow, feigning surprise at Lexa’s words, but Clarke pays more attention to the way her shoulders relax imperceptibly.

Good.

It worked.

Nia thinks that they’re here only because of her emissaries, not because they suspect her of being linked to Raven’s disappearance in any way.

Now, all they have to do is buy as much time as possible for Carmilla and the others.

 

* * *

 

Sneaking into the castle turns out to be surprisingly easy.

Octavia, Bellamy and Carmilla hang around the main gates while they wait for Clarke and Lexa to get there, though they stay at a respectable distance; as soon as they spot the leaders approaching, they quickly head to the kitchens a little farther to the left. The exterior walls are thankfully not brightly lit, which allows them to stay shadows in the darkness despite being clearly close enough to be spotted from the rampart walk during daytime, and they only get out of hiding once they reach the door that Roan told them about.

_“Why didn’t Nia fix it already?” Octavia asked, incapable of understanding why someone like the Ice Queen would find it acceptable to live with such a flaw in her defenses._

_“Because she doesn’t know it’s broken”, Roan answered with a hint of a smirk. “The kitchen workers keep it a secret, and so do I. I knew I might need a way in other than the main gates one day.”_

The day in question is now, though it benefits someone else than Roan himself, and slipping through the broken door takes Carmilla and the Blake siblings less than five seconds.

They arrive in a hive of activity where no one pays any attention to them, and the first thing that Octavia and Bellamy notice is that it’s hot in there. _Really_ hot. The chimneys might be enough to evacuate most of the smoke, but they don’t exactly do much about the warmth.

Octavia starts removing her fur-lined jacket immediately. “We need to strip”, she says under her breath, barely loud enough for the others to hear her. “Otherwise we’ll look suspect in no time.”

Carmilla doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s been waiting to get rid of these clothes since she put them on, and the apparent heat in the room they’re in is nothing but a blessing. “Oh, finally”, she mutters with relief, her voice as low as Octavia’s.

Everybody in their little group needs to be careful when they talk: Roan warned them that given the cover stories he created for them with the war paint, they aren’t supposed to know English.

_“The most efficient way to find where Nia keeps Raven is to pretend you are servants”, he explained while they were waiting in the woods. “Except for you, Octavia. As the only one who knows our language, you are a guard – but just a middle-ranked one: the high-ranked ones’ faces are too well-known to risk it. None of you are supposed to speak Gonasleng.”_

_“And I’m not just a servant as well because?” Octavia enquired._

_“Because it would be an issue to find your way to Raven. Servants in the castle are not allowed to ask questions to anyone who is higher than them in the hierarchy, and they can only speak if their presence was acknowledged first. Nia’s rule.”_

(It’s a rather ridiculous rule, really, but they need to deal with it anyway.)

Overall, the plan is rather simple. First, they need to find Thiwas in the kitchens: a guy who’s been providing information to Roan for several years now, and who is their best chance at getting a general direction to search in. After that, well, Octavia will pretend that Bellamy and Carmilla are new servants who don’t know the rule about not asking questions or how to navigate the castle very well yet, and who got lost while trying to bring food to the prisoners.

That’s how they should find Raven.

If nothing goes south, of course.

Once they’re done removing their winter outfits, Bellamy and the others shove said clothes in the nearest piece of furniture that is empty enough to contain them; with a sigh, Octavia then removes the regular jacket she was wearing underneath the fur-lined one and hands it to Carmilla.

“Not much I can do about your pants, but at least put this on over your stupid leather so we don’t look _too_ suspect”, she whispers, her voice betraying clear annoyance.

Carmilla glares at her but obeys anyway – though with a half-disgusted expression on her face –, and once that’s done, they move away from the door and farther into the kitchens.

(Much to Carmilla’s dismay, actually, because it really stinks in there.)

Octavia spots an elderly woman who, if they’re lucky, has been working here long enough to know pretty much everyone and which room they can be found in, so they make their way over to her and Octavia asks: “Weron Thiwas kamp raun? Ai souda lid emo in gon em.”

The woman barely glances at her before lowering her gaze again in fear as soon as she spots the war paint and the weapons that Octavia is carrying: two swords behind her back and one on her waist, since the others can’t have anything more than a knife – the only thing which can be easily hidden – on them.

“Thiwas kamp raun ouder”, the woman answers with a quavering voice, indicating a man with a sturdy physique in front of a stove near the door leading to the next room.

Octavia refrains herself from thanking her for the information, having been told by Roan that it’s _never_ something that is done in Nia’s castle, and turns around without a word instead.

She waits for a few seconds until the person currently talking to Thiwas leaves before she approaches him, and she makes sure that no one is within earshot when she leans over to tell him: “We come on Roan’s behalf.”

Thiwas is one of the rare people who speaks English despite not being supposed to, thankfully for them.

He stares at Octavia with a very unimpressed look as he lets out: “Prove it.”

“Alyna”, she answers.

She has no idea what the word means or if it refers to a person since Roan refused to give any details, but it seems to be a password of sorts, because Thiwas relaxes immediately as he hears it.

“Why are you here?”

“A prisoner was brought in this castle one or two days ago. She’s a bit older than me, brown hair too, slightly taller. We’re here for her.”

“The Skaikru girl who arrived last night”, Thiwas comments knowingly. Looking at Carmilla and Bellamy, who are staying a little behind, then back at Octavia, he adds: “You are Skaikru too.”

“Yes”, Octavia confirms with a nod. There’s no point in denying it if he’s figured it out that easily; besides, since both Bellamy and Carmilla – who isn’t from the Ark but still looks the part – don’t speak Trigedasleng at all, that’s kind of a big giveaway.

“The girl you are searching for is in the Queen’s personal prisons”, Thiwas reveals.

Octavia frowns. “Are you sure?”

“I have more eyes and ears in this castle than the Prince is aware of”, he says with a small smile. “How did you enter the kitchens?”

The question is unexpected and seemingly random, but Octavia doesn’t let it unsettle her. She waits until the group of cooks coming their way has passed them by to answer: “Through the door that doesn’t close properly.”

Thiwas nods once, gravely. “If this has been revealed to you, then your mission must be of high importance. So if you need a person to show you the way through the corridors, I will be your guide.”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, gladly”, Octavia accepts.

This wasn’t part of the plan, but she’s really not complaining. She much prefers to have someone lead them to Raven than to be forced to follow directions and potentially ask people for help several times.

“Alright. Wait for me here five minutes, I will find someone to replace me as well as convincing attendant clothes for your two friends.”

That’s how Carmilla ends up having to put on an even more stinking apron than the jacket she gives back to Octavia, and also how they manage to move through the servant’s corridors without drawing anybody’s attention, thanks to Thiwas leading the way.

So far, so good.

 

* * *

 

“It is time for you to keep your word”, Echo tells Roan not long after Carmilla, Octavia and Bellamy leave the woods where they’re hiding.

“Not immediately”, he retorts.

He’d rather make sure this whole trip isn’t about making them all fall into a last-minute trap before he complies with his part of the deal.

Echo glowers at him. “If something happens to my parents because you—”

“Nia has no reason to hurt them right at the moment. She’s busy with Clarke and the Commander.”

“If Bellamy’s group gets caught—”

“They will probably be killed. Even if they are captured, we will be done by the time they are interrogated”, Roan assures. “I know this castle. I know how much time we have. We keep waiting for now.”

 

* * *

 

“Skaikru fall under the Coalition’s rules now?” the Ice Queen questions, her voice measured in its coldness and artificial in its confusion.

Lexa nods imperceptibly, though her eyes stay firmly locked in Nia’s. Both women have barely blinked since the conversation started.

“I assumed the Prince had relayed the news.”

Insults, deceptive words, concealed truths, outright lies. Clarke quickly understands that the discussion will be made of nothing else, from both sides.

“Why would my son know about Skaikru’s greatly undeserved ascension to the rank of clan when I do not?” Nia enquires slowly. She doesn’t raise her voice; she lowers it, even, and somehow that seems much more dangerous than if she had barked her question.

“As the representative you sent to Polis, he took the oath in your stead. Whether you now think his choice to believe in Skaikru was justified or not, you ought to discuss this particular matter with him and not me. I will not let this conversation be derailed by what seems to be an issue in your own internal politics”, Lexa asserts.

Even though she and Clarke are here to buy time for the others, she’d still like to avoid discussing the dangerous topic that is Roan’s involvement in the ceremony if she can.

“Since you apparently think so highly of my people”, Clarke cuts in, opting for sarcasm as her own way to antagonize Nia – though not too overtly –, “why did you bother reaching out to us?”

Several seconds elapse before the Ice Queen suddenly turns her head to look at her, finally breaking eye contact with Lexa, and Clarke can’t help but flinch when her gaze meets Nia’s for the first time.

In her entire life, she’s never been _that_ eager to run away from someone. _Ever_.

She has already met monsters, and she easily considers herself one of them, but the Ice Queen still stands out clearly in that list. The only one Clarke can think of who came close is Cage: they have the same calculating gleam in their eyes, the same lack of care for the means they use if it gets them what they want, the same desire to _always_ follow through with their ideas; but the difference between Nia and him, or Nia and all the others, is her motivations. Nia doesn’t care much about her people; she doesn’t want to do what she thinks is best for them – she wants to do what she thinks is best for _herself_ and herself only.

Clarke had already figured as much, though. What she hadn’t realized yet is the rest, the truth that she reads in Nia’s piercing gaze: the main difference between the Ice Queen and every other enemy Clarke has ever faced so far is empathy – or rather, the lack thereof, for Nia doesn’t feel or understand anyone else’s pain. However, this void in the Queen’s mind isn’t filled with indifference; it is overflowing with sadism, and the promise of cruelty in those eyes hits Clarke to the point of feeling it physically. It’s like an electric current running through her body, awakened by some primal instinct urging her to run away from a predator.

It takes all of her willpower to stay where she is after her first instinctive recoil, and to hold her ground rather than break eye contact requires strength she didn’t even know she had in her.

How the freaking hell is Lexa able to face this stare without any reaction whatsoever?!

“Skaikru is too weak to ever be considered worthy of any clan”, Nia replies, her voice dripping with disdain, after what feels like an eternity to Clarke though the answer was almost instantaneous. “However, you possess technology that I find myself interested in.”

She smiles wickedly, obviously revelling in the fear she elicits from Clarke, who doesn’t manage to fully school her features despite trying her best.

“I know Lexa disagrees with my stance on this particular matter”, the Ice Queen finishes a few seconds later, breaking eye contact with regret and looking at the Commander again instead.

Clarke feels like a liability in this strange, intense staring contest that Lexa and Nia are engaged in. She is indeed both an unwilling asset to the Queen, who is facing two interlocutors, and an unfortunate potential distraction for the Commander, since a simple glance at Clarke would amount to a sign of weakness.

There’s not much she can do about it, though.

“Your assumptions about me have _always_ been wrong, Nia”, Lexa retorts slowly, not bothering to hide the animosity in her voice anymore.

“Have they? You are so predictable, _Commander_ ”, the Queen says, tone mocking and expression rather smug. “Though I do have to admit I didn’t expect you to bow before Skaikru so easily.”

“Lexa didn’t—” Clarke blurts, and though she shuts up as soon as her brain catches up with her lips, she knows it’s already too late.

The Ice Queen was merely trying to get an uncontrolled reaction by using insulting words, and Clarke played right into her hands.

This time, when Nia turns her head to look at her, she does so slowly – as if she couldn’t believe that such a great opportunity to take the upper hand in this verbal confrontation was just served to her on a silver platter.

Clarke holds her gaze without moving away, choosing not to help the Ice Queen even more than she involuntarily just did, but the discomfort is unlike anything she’s ever experienced – at least, outside of life or death situations. And this isn’t supposed to be one of them, though Clarke wouldn’t be one hundred percent confident stating that.

Right now, she feels like a mouse trying to fight away a cat without having the option to flee.

(No, scratch that.)

(She’d much rather be face-to-face with a giant hungry cat than with Nia in this instant.)

(Even if said giant cat isn’t Carmilla.)

“Lexa?” Nia repeats, the name sounding like a somehow thoughtful question that doesn’t seek an external answer.

And then her lips part into a devilish grin, which makes Clarke’s skin crawl, and she turns towards Lexa again.

“I see you have finally replaced your huntress”, the Ice Queen says quite cheerfully, though it comes out exactly the way it’s intended: sadistic and taunting.

“I strongly advise you to mind your words”, Lexa hisses, almost snarling.

“You have always been too sensitive”, Nia replies, unimpressed, with a small shake of her head.

Clarke’s eyes widen when everything clicks into place and she suddenly understands what’s happening.

She shouldn’t have called Lexa by her name. She _really_ shouldn’t have, but her reaction was instinctive and she made a mistake – a giant one, even, since somehow Nia just figured out something she wasn’t ever supposed to know: the closeness between Clarke and the Commander.

As for the huntress she just referred to, it must be Costia.

More than anything else, this is what makes Clarke certain that the Ice Queen is someone who finds pleasure in hurting others – who relishes it, even. Even through words only, she finds ways to torture Lexa, to make her relive the pain of the past just for her own enjoyment.

And it’s Clarke who offered her this opportunity.

Well, she’s not going to let it last.

“If I were you, I’d be careful before angering someone who has access to missiles and knows how to use them”, she mentions almost casually, trying to imitate the detached tone that Lexa was using at the beginning of the conversation.

“She doesn’t”, Nia replies without bothering to look at her.

Clarke straightens her spine and lets the hate she feels for the Ice Queen filter through her glare, hoping it’ll manage to overlay the fear that her eyes have betrayed so far. “I was talking about me.”

She knows she’s putting Nia in an uncomfortable position here. Sure, they agreed to the deactivation of Mount Weather’s defenses and Lexa said so during the ceremony, but since Nia isn’t supposed to have heard about it, she can’t use that fact against Clarke without betraying herself.

“Oh, and since I’m sure the thought of killing us has crossed your mind at some point or another: I’d forget it, if I were you. I’m not the only one of my people who could fire those missiles, and I can assure you they wouldn’t take kindly to my death.”

The words come so easily to her, she’s almost surprised. She’s _always_ been good at this, at trying to manipulate or intimidate the people who threaten her, but she didn’t think she had that much confidence left in her lately – and if she had been told she did, she would have sworn it was certainly not enough to do that to Nia of all people.

Well, it turns out she can after all.

“Clarke”, Lexa says quietly.

“I just thought she should know”, Clarke shrugs, trying to appear as casual as she can. “Before we go back to the point, since we’ve digressed quite a bit.”

She sees fury laced with hatred in Nia’s gaze, but she doesn’t back down. She knows she just won that round, trapping the Ice Queen into a corner with no way out, and she’s beginning to understand how to navigate the unspoken rules of this conversation.

It’s about power, whether having it or faking it, and that’s a game she learned how to play quite a while ago now.

“So”, Clarke continues, smiling a little just to be even more infuriating, “why are you so interested in our technology exactly?”

She already knows the answer to this question, but that’s not the point. The point hasn’t changed: it’s buying as much time as possible before they’re out of things to say and they need to leave the castle.

She just hopes that Carmilla and the others are hurrying, because she doesn’t know how long she can keep this up.

 

* * *

 

Thiwas makes them stop in front of a massive wooden door.

“It leads to a part of the castle that is reserved for high-ranked individuals. I cannot accompany you there: I wish to keep my cover intact. The prison is at the end of the second passage to the left; two guards will be in front of the door, and around twenty others should be inside. This is all I can tell you. Now, your main issue—”

Deciding that she has as much information as she needs, Carmilla cuts him off. “Great, thanks for the tour”, she grumbles, generally pissed off by the whole mission, and opens the door without waiting for the others to get ready to move.

She only realizes that something is wrong when Thiwas pretty much gapes at her.

“What? Do I have something on my face?” She pauses, then adds: “Well, on top of that ridiculous war paint, I mean…”

“I was about to say: this door is always locked, so you will need to wait for someone to open it from the inside before you can get in, but…” He shakes his head, still incredulous. “Apparently, that will not be necessary.”

Oh.

_OH._

Shit.

She needs to be more careful with this. She didn’t even pay attention to the strength she used to open that damn door.

“It wasn’t locked this time… Obviously”, she tries to use as a defense, but she’s fairly certain that her widened eyes and her faltering voice don’t convince Octavia _at all_.

Thiwas clearly doesn’t believe her either, but he doesn’t waste any time trying to solve that mystery. “Good luck”, he simply tells them, then turns around and leaves.

“Let’s go”, Bellamy urges the two others. He doesn’t care much about how Carmilla opened that door, the most important part for him is that it’s, well, open.

They step into the corridor and quickly walk to the intersection with the passage leading to the prison.

“We need to lure the guards out”, Octavia whispers, trying to formulate a strategy before they round the corner.

Carmilla doesn’t warn anyone about what’s she’s going to do before she grabs the sword hanging from Octavia’s waist. She’s very done with this day, very done with this unbearable trip altogether, and if they need to lure people out, well, she knows an easy way to do that.

Also, she really wants to get the free food that Clarke promised her _now_. She didn’t eat anything during the past two days, so she’s kind of _starving_.

“What are you do—” Octavia has time to say before Carmilla starts hitting the flat of the blade against the wall.

And since that doesn’t make enough noise to her liking, she switches to the hilt of the sword, but since it’s _still_ not satisfying, she settles for banging it against the marble floor instead.

Much better. At least it resonates, for one thing.

“WHERE CAN I FIND SOME RESTROOMS IN THIS CASTLE??” she shouts, saying the first silly thing that comes to her mind so as to clearly identify herself as an intruder and the banging as not just some random noise.

By the time Octavia reacts and envisions to attempt to stop that _stupid crazy girl_ from getting them all killed, she knows it’s already way too late, so she doesn’t bother after all.

Instead, she tries to salvage what little can still be saved at this point and grabs Bellamy’s wrist to drag him to the other side of the passage leading to the prison. The two guards running in their direction spot them, of course, but thankfully the door isn’t open yet, so once the other guards get out of the prison, they will most probably follow the sound – that is, Carmilla, who’s currently walking away from everyone while making as much noise as possible – rather than the two siblings.

Octavia winces as she pulls her two swords from their sheaths on her back, still suffering from the two-day ride, but given that she’s certain her brother is in even worse shape than her, she decides to take care of the two guards herself.

The first one pretty much impales himself on her right blade as he rounds the corner a bit too close to the wall; and then, since she doesn’t have time to get her sword out by the time the other one faces her, she grabs the dying guy’s one instead – she much prefers to fight with two weapons rather than just one, and in her current aching state, that’s even more the case.

She takes advantage of the distraction that is Carmilla to attack while he’s unsure of what he should do, and though he manages to divert her first sword, he can’t prevent the other one from piercing his body right below the sternum.

Well, that’s done. Two down, a ridiculously gigantic amount left to go.

Octavia releases the breath she had been holding and presses herself against the wall again without sparing a glance for the two bodies. She knows she’s been doing well so far, but she’d rather not have to fight any other guard today, simply because she knows she won’t be able to win if she can’t rely on confounding her adversary – which will be the case as soon as they can’t count on the element of surprise anymore.

With a bit of luck, though, Carmilla will be the only one handling the consequences of the mess she created.

No, not luck. Strategy.

“Bell, lie down”, Octavia orders as she lets herself drop on the floor as well.

And just as she expected, once the other guards reach the intersection, most of them run after Carmilla immediately, while the rare ones who glance to their left follow quickly: what they see looks like four bodies in a pool of blood, not like two dead guards and two people waiting for them to free the way to the prison.

“Let’s go”, Octavia whispers once she’s almost certain that all the guards have rounded the corner.

Right now, they need to focus on freeing Raven. Figuring out how to go back to the kitchens without ending up dead or caught will have to wait.

Seriously, did Carmilla never hear about the concept of a discreet operation?!

 

* * *

 

The reverberating banging noise in the distance interrupts Nia, Clarke and Lexa’s verbal duel for a second.

“Dig au chit ste kom au”, the Ice Queen orders, prompting several guards to move from their spot near the throne and leave the room through a small door to their right – door that Clarke hadn’t noticed so far, since it’s painted in the same shade of grey than the stones making up the wall.

“I sent my emissaries before I was made aware of Skaikru’s current status as a clan. You are making an issue out of a situation that shouldn’t be one, at least not for you”, Nia resumes once the guards are gone.

Clarke groans internally. They are running out of ways to make this conversation drag on, and it’s starting to become obvious – though not enough to be suspect, so far.

Still, they are going to need to leave soon.

 

* * *

 

The door leading to the prison at the end of the passage is wide open when Octavia peeks around the corner, and though she can’t see a single guard in the room, it doesn’t mean that none of them stayed behind. She hurries there as silently as she can, Bellamy following in her footsteps, and readies her knife in case someone is still in there.

There are, indeed, two guards standing in front of another door on the opposite side of the room. She aims at them as soon as she moves inside but, unfortunately, they react quickly and the knife merely bounces against the metal covering the door.

Well, two trained warriors against her tired, aching self and Bellamy, who only knows how to fight properly with guns – none of which were brought to Polis on Kane’s order…

The odds are not exactly in their favor.

Octavia dives to the left when the two guards attack her at the same time, and she rolls on the ground to avoid a sword that brushes past her head. As she gets back up to analyze the situation, she immediately understands the goal of her attackers’ maneuver, and she also realizes that it’s going to end badly for her. They’re now standing between her and the door that is her only exit, so she couldn’t run away even if she wanted to.

But it also means that they have their back to Bellamy, who hasn’t come in yet.

The moment Octavia realizes this, her brother slips into the room, a sword lifted in front of him – sword that he probably took from one of the two guys she killed earlier, though she didn’t notice him doing that. Their eyes lock; she nods imperceptibly, signalling she’s ready, and Bellamy lunges forward while she distracts the other guard.

The element of surprise. _Always_ rely on the element of surprise.

When the first warrior falls, the second one falters. He didn’t see what happened exactly; he only heard a thud to his right though a little behind him, and by the time he realizes that he’s attacked by not one but two people, the fight is already over. Blood is oozing out of his gut before he understands how it’s possible, and a second sword to the heart kills him instantly.

“Thanks for the help”, Octavia breathes out to Bellamy while she visually checks that he’s alright.

“You looked like you needed it”, he answers, not really teasingly, but not entirely seriously either. “We need to find the keys.”

Right, the second door is probably locked.

Thankfully, the guard they just killed has a bunch of keys on him, and it doesn’t take them long to find the right one.

Bellamy pushes the door open while Octavia readies her swords again, but there are no guards inside this time. There’s only a row of cells in front of them and a small window on the left, one that isn’t very useful as this time of the day – or rather, night –, so they pretty much bring the light in with them as they enter.

Raven sees them before they spot her.

“My knight in shining armor”, she says in lieu of a greeting, her voice meant to be sassy but still coming out laced with the intense relief she feels in that instant. “And my boyfriend”, she adds, smirking a little. “Took you long enough!”

“Raven!” Bellamy blurts out, striding to her cell with the keys already ready in his hands.

There are no walls separating the cells and the rest of the room, only bars, so he spots two other prisoners to his left – prisoners who both look like they’ve passed out at some point or another. They might even be dead, for all he could tell, and he decides to ignore them entirely.

Raven gets up and grimaces as she puts weight on her left leg, but she grits her teeth and doesn’t say anything as she limps to the door. Bellamy manages to open it only seconds before she reaches it, and when she does, she gets pulled into a hug that she doesn’t fight.

“It’s good to see you guys”, she whispers earnestly.

Octavia smiles at her over Bellamy’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you too!”

“Are you okay?” Bellamy asks, concerned, once he lets go of Raven.

She shrugs. “I’ve been better. The trip here was a little… rough, I’ve been a pain in my kidnappers’ asses, but I’ll tell you guys about that later. Let’s get out of here first, huh?”

“If we manage”, Octavia mutters.

Raven frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean? How did you guys get in here?”

“We sneaked into the castle. Nobody noticed us, until…” Octavia sighs and groans. “The noise you heard earlier? Yeah, well, that’s Carmilla. So going back the way we got in might be a bit of a problem, now.”

“… Carmilla? As in, sleeps-in-Clarke’s-room-and-tried-to-crush-my-wrist Carmilla?!”

“The one and only”, Octavia grumbles. “Clarke’s idea. Can’t say it’s been her best one so far… Anyway, let’s go before someone finds us and we end up trapped. Can you walk?”

“It hurts, but I can manage. Can’t run, though”, Raven acknowledges reluctantly.

“Lean on me”, Bellamy offers, and Raven begrudgingly accepts.

“I’ll lead the way”, Octavia says, going back out of the room then into the passage again, checking that nobody is coming back.

She registers with a delay that everything has been quiet for a moment now, and she frowns as she wonders what happened on Carmilla’s end. She spares a quick glance behind her to make sure that Bellamy and Raven are following her, then she runs to the intersection with the corridor and rounds the corner with her swords raised.

She had envisioned a lot of possibilities for what she might find there, but none – really, _none_  – of them included Carmilla leaning against a wall, looking almost bored, with more than twenty guards dead at her feet.

It takes Octavia a few seconds to stop gaping.

“How nice of you to finally join the party!” Carmilla comments sarcastically, before looking pointedly at the pile of dead guys. “Not that I’m keeping count or anything, but you could really try to be more useful next time.”

Bellamy and Raven join Octavia right before Carmilla stops speaking, and they stare at the massacre with wide eyes as well.

“I hope there will never be a next time”, Bellamy mumbles, “but how did you…” he trails off, incapable of finishing his sentence.

“ _Talent hits a target no one else can hit. Genius hits a target no one else can see_ ”, Carmilla replies, smirking.

“I take it you’re not a genius, then”, Raven points out, smirking as well. She then pokes Octavia on the shoulder and adds: “Clarke’s idea wasn’t _that_ bad, huh?”

Carmilla raises an eyebrow. “Talking about me behind my back, midget?”

“You’re smaller than me”, Octavia retorts, glaring at her. “And yeah, you’re… efficient, but we could have done without the noise. There are going to be more guards coming our way really soon now. So let’s mo—”

She stops talking when she hears the clinking of an armor somewhere behind her. Whirling around, she sees three guards coming from the other end of the corridor – the one opposite the door Carmilla forced open –, and they stop trying to be discreet as soon as they realize they’ve been made.

Octavia readjusts her grip on her swords, but she doesn’t need to use them. Carmilla casually walks past her with two swords of her own, taken from the pile of dead guys, and she seems a lot more eager than she should be when she says: “Oh, there’s the dessert!”

The vampire has more than compensated for the two days during which she didn’t eat by now, sure, but still, she loves good food, and she’ll gladly taste these three. She’ll have to wait until the others leave, though, since disguising the blood loss due to her drinking by slicing throats open with a sword hardly works well in front of witnesses.

The three guys don’t hesitate despite her confident approach, but she doesn’t wait for them to attempt to attack her before she kills them. She lifts her swords, using just a tiny bit of vampire speed so that they can’t react in time but her powers don’t become noticeable, then slices two throats open, and uses the momentum to impale the third guy who can’t stop running fast enough to avoid the weapons.

Quick, easy, and almost effortless.

(Almost.)

(She did have to walk up to them.)

“Are you planning on staring at me all night long?” she asks the brunette squad. She’d like to eat in peace, and she can’t do that with them here. “The door’s this way”, she adds, pointing vaguely behind them.

“Yeah, that’s gonna be a problem”, Raven says, looking in the direction of whatever door Carmilla is talking about.

Because there are about twenty more guards coming their way, _fast_ , and somehow Raven doubts there will only be one wave of them.

“The other door’s this way?” Carmilla suggests, pointing vaguely behind her this time.

Though Octavia doesn’t like the idea of running through a corridor without knowing where they’re going and who they might cross paths with, she also has to admit that it’s still a better option than retracing their steps. Only three warriors appeared from the unknown side of the corridor, while two dozens and probably more to come are rushing to the intruders from the broken door.

This is exactly why Octavia wished Carmilla had been a little less noisy on purpose, but it’s way too late to change that now, so they’ll just have to deal with the consequences.

“Guys, let’s go. We have to find another way out”, Octavia orders, rushing them forward.

“You do that. I’ll just stay and have fun for a little while”, Carmilla says absent-mindedly.

They take about ten steps before Bellamy decides that this is definitely not efficient, and he pulls a face as he comes to a stop in the middle of the corridor. “You’re not going to like this”, he warns Raven.

She indeed doesn’t, because being carried around is _mortifying_ and _both Blakes better forget this ever happened once they’re out of here_ , but there are also two facts she can’t fight: they need to move fast, and she just can’t run.

Octavia leads the way as they hurry through the corridor, which takes several turns and opens on several passages that regularly force them to stop to check if someone is behind the corner or not, until they end up in front of a closed door.

They look at one another then, unsure of what they’ll find on the other side and what they should do. The sound of approaching footsteps behind them is motivation enough, though, so Octavia pushes the door open without hesitation.

Thankfully, it isn’t locked, but while she was expecting to end up in another corridor, like it’s the case on the side where Carmilla is currently fighting guards, they enter…

Oh.

Oh, _shit_.

She highly doubts two swords and their war paint will be enough to get them out of _this_ mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Kom” = “From”  
> “Weron Thiwas kamp raun? Ai souda lid emo in gon em.” = “Where is Thiwas? I must bring them to him.”  
> “Thiwas kamp raun ouder.” = “Thiwas is over there.”  
> “Dig au chit ste kom au.” = “Find out what is happening.”  
> \---------  
> “Talent hits a target no one else can hit. Genius hits a target no one else can see.” - Arthur Schopenhauer  
> \---------  
> So, exactly how wrong is it that I enjoyed writing evil!Nia so much? Because she was REALLY super fun to write :D


	11. Part II: White - Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Blood / 'Graphic depictions of violence' applies (even more than usual in this chapter, actually).
> 
> Hi guys! Yeah it’s been a while (again)… Really sorry about that, but life has been a bit hectic on my end. I’ll finally be settled at the beginning of March so that’ll definitely help, though I feel like I should stop promising you all more regular updates because it looks like I ALWAYS jinx it when I do (and my co-writer really wants me to add “I TOLD YOU SO”, and… yeah, she has a point ._.). So I’m just going to clamp my mouth shut and let you enjoy the final chapter of part II! Part III will be up next, with a lot less plot and a lot more fun, I promise. So see you soon, I hope!  
> \----------  
> “If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.” - Orson Welles

When Roan enters the kitchens through the door with the broken lock, he’s wearing the mask that was meant for Carmilla again. Ideally, he’d prefer to get back out of the castle without anyone having recognized him.

“Try anything, I kill you, your parents live as slaves until they die too”, he whispers in Echo’s ear as they hurry towards the exit.

Her hands are still bound, but Roan knows her well enough to be wary of her resourcefulness. You don’t become one of the Ice Queen’s high-ranked spies without some serious skills, and he’s seen her in training too many times to make the mistake of underestimating her.

“I have no reason to betray you now”, she hisses back, though quietly.

“You will have to prove it”, Roan retorts, putting an end to the conversation. If living his whole life with Nia has taught him anything, it’s not to let anyone earn his trust easily unless he wants to die prematurely.

They soon reach the door leading to the servant’s corridors, and he opens it without hesitation. No one is paying attention to them: it’s not uncommon for warriors to wander through the kitchens, even accompanied – it’s not obvious Echo is a prisoner if you don’t look closely at her wrists –, and it usually doesn’t end well for whoever lets their gaze linger on someone higher in rank than them without permission.

“The armory is the other way around”, Echo remarks as they turn to the left.

“Yes”, Roan confirms flatly.

“Where are we going?” Echo asks through her teeth.

“To assess the situation”, he answers dismissively.

A few minutes later, he stops next to an immense statue that doesn’t look any different from the ones they just passed by – though he knows better. He waits until no one can see them to push on one of said statue’s toes, and ignores Echo’s wary eyes on him as the base pivots slightly to reveal an opening on another, considerably more narrow corridor.

“You go first”, he orders.

Echo obeys without a word.

 

* * *

 

When the small door opens again, Clarke fully expects to see the guards Nia sent to search for the provenance of the banging noise coming back with an explanation.

She was _definitely_ not expecting to see Bellamy, Raven and Octavia instead.

She stays frozen, unable to figure out a way to react, during several painful seconds; Nia, on the other hand, seems to process the situation a lot better than Clarke does, because she quickly turns back to look at Lexa… and the glee on her face is everything but reassuring.

The Queen doesn’t have time to say a word, though, because a fourth person suddenly joins Raven and the others, looking a lot more chill than everyone else in the room.

“Okay, first, how many guards are there in this castle, and second, why do they all look alike?” Carmilla complains, kind of annoyed at having to kill more people than she can eat or even taste at this point.

It’s only after everyone turns to look at her that she truly realizes the three dwarfs are not alone in the room.

“Oh, hey Blondie, Cap’, and…” She pauses to look at Nia properly. “Are you that Ice Bitch everyone was talking about? You sure fit the part.”

Clarke briefly closes her eyes at that, bracing herself for what is about to happen.

Because somehow, she really doubts it’s a good thing Carmilla just confirmed she knows Lexa and her.

When Nia’s expression brightens even more, her smirk not even faltering at the word ‘bitch’, Clarke knows she’s right.

“People _who know you_ happen to break into my castle _while you request an audience with me_?” Nia says to the Commander, pretending to wonder whether it could be a coincidence for a few seconds before she drops the act. “This is treason, Lexa, and you and I both know what it means.”

“Raven was abducted _in my tower_ where over twenty guards were murdered in the process, _after_ Skaikru were made the thirteenth clan. So, seeing as she has just been found _in your castle_ , it means you committed treason against the Coalition before I did”, the Commander retorts, unwavering.

Carmilla watches the situation unfold, suddenly wondering if this might turn out to be fun after all; Bellamy, meanwhile, puts Raven down slowly once it becomes clear that they won’t be running away anymore. This has turned into a political mess when it wasn’t supposed to be one, but it’s way too late to change their mind about trying to find an exit at the other end of the corridor. The only thing they can do now is stand and watch.

“My fault doesn’t absolve you of yours”, Nia points out, utterly unimpressed with Lexa’s accusations. “It appears we should both be executed… unless we find another way to settle this?” That’s a question everyone can see she already has an answer ready for, but she still stays silent during a few seconds, savoring the tension she can see building in Clarke, before announcing: “Leksa kom Trikru, I challenge you to a fight to the death.”

And there’s pure glee in her eyes as she says the words, because she’s been wanting to do this for _years_.

She wanted to get rid of Lexa before the Coalition was formed already – as soon as she first heard of the idea of it, actually –, but that desire only tripled in intensity after she was humiliated by being forced to join it.

She’s _not_ letting this golden occasion pass her by now. She’ll grant her own long-time wish today or never.

Because even before she gets an answer, she knows that Lexa has too high a sense of honor to dare refuse a duel put forward during a formal meeting.

“To the death”, the Commander indeed repeats without hesitation, her reply accompanied by a curt nod.

“What?” Clarke blurts out, looking at Lexa with disbelief. “N— No, you—”

“Yes I can, and I will”, the Commander asserts, her eyes still bored in Nia’s. “Step away, Clarke.”

But Clarke doesn’t move, instead quickly taking in the situation and trying to find another way out of this mess – one that _doesn’t_ involve Lexa risking her life. There are twenty guards on their side, plus Carmilla, while the Ice Queen only has about ten left, and—

“Before you decide to do something you might regret”, Nia tells her, clearly enjoying being able to throw the ‘I wouldn’t kill me if I were you’ line back at Clarke, who said the same thing earlier with her missile threats, “I should tell you that I have numerous archers ready to pierce your heart with an arrow as we speak. Surely you didn’t think I wouldn’t take my precautions before letting you in my castle?”

Okay, that’s a problem indeed.

Clarke looks up, immediately understanding where the archers are located, but the openings in the walls are way too well hidden for her to spot them easily – not to mention that there’s no way to count how many of them there are exactly. Even if Carmilla could be convinced to teleport among the archers and managed to kill one – or a few –, it would still end up being game over for them in no time.

“The only way you will see me dead is if your dear Lexa manages to kill me”, Nia finishes, way too self-assured and way too convinced she can’t lose to Clarke’s liking.

“Step away, Clarke, please”, Lexa repeats, her voice softening, though she still doesn’t break eye contact with Nia.

(Clarke briefly wonders if it’s because she’s worried about the Ice Queen trying a low blow if she were to look away.)

(Pretty much nobody would put that past Nia, honestly.)

In any case, since she doesn’t really have a choice and in spite of her reluctance, Clarke turns around to join Carmilla and the Arkers while Nia removes her fur dress to reveal warrior clothes and a blade underneath. As for Lexa, she simply ties her hair back, then grabs the hilts of the two swords hanging from behind her shoulders and waits for the Queen to get ready as well.

She’s been waiting for this moment for years now – the opportunity to kill Nia. She was supposed to get it tomorrow at best and not right now, sure, but she’s neither scared nor unprepared, and the only thing she needs to pay attention to is impatience. _This_ is what could get her killed; otherwise, she’s fairly confident in her ability to win this fight. The Queen obviously is in her own as well – probably counting on her experience to get the upper hand –, but she’s never really seen Lexa fight, and not even once these past few years… So she might be in for a surprise.

Because, well…

Is Nia more skilled? Probably.

Does Lexa have doubts about her own ability to keep up, though? Not particularly.

And is she sure that the Queen’s flaw will be her confidence if she feels like she has the upper hand? Certainly.

So, does she bet on endurance as the decisive factor that will determine the winner once Nia has over-exerted herself? Most definitely.

Because if there’s one thing Lexa is sure of, it’s that fighting for hours on the front lines during wars is something Nia has _never_ experienced in her life.

But _she_ has. Oh, she has.

*

“Care to tell me what the hell happened?” Clarke whisper-asks, desperately trying to find a distraction to avoid seeing her anxiety levels rise even higher than they became when the words ‘to the death’ were first uttered.

“We were trying to find a way out. It, uh, backfired”, Bellamy replies apologetically.

“It would have been easier to go back the way we went in, but someone made it impossible”, Octavia grumbles, glaring at Carmilla for a second.

They’re all as tense as it gets, apart from the vampire who appears to be (and probably is) perfectly relaxed – she looks like she’s watching an average movie, Clarke realizes: entertained and waiting to see what happens next, but without really caring about the outcome much.

“So you’re responsible for that noise?” Clarke pushes, trying to understand what happened exactly.

Carmilla shrugs slightly. “It gave the B-Squad enough time to reunite.”

“B-Squad?”

“… Your bold, boring and blunt brunette friends.”

She’s still debating whether said Brunette-Squad is better or worse than the Ginger-Squad she once knew. She can even see some similarities: Raven is tech-savvy and would be LaF, Octavia is a warrior and would be Danny (not to mention they’re both just as annoying), so it would leave Bellamy as Perry…

She erases the comparisons from her mind immediately once she starts imagining Bellamy as a curly red-head.

She has to refrain herself from laughing at that, though.

(Anyway, the Brunette-Squad gets her vote, but only because a group including Danny will never win over another one in her opinion.)

“Bold, boring and blunt?” Clarke repeats, confused.

Lexa and Nia are now circling each other, gauging their respective guards, and she _really_ needs to _not_ be focused solely on that if she wants her heartbeat to keep a mildly acceptable rate.

(She doesn’t want to think about why Lexa fighting someone to the death scares her that much. She really doesn’t.)

(Especially not right now, when it’s happening right in front of her eyes.)

“You can figure it out yourself”, Carmilla replies dismissively.

“Okay, uh”, Clarke breathes out.

She takes a glance at Raven, Bellamy and Octavia, who have moved a few feet away so Raven could sit against the wall; she knows she should go with them, check if Raven is okay – she doesn’t look like she’s been tortured, which kind of surprises Clarke, though she’s glad about that –, or even just _say_ something to Raven, but right now she can’t bring herself to do any of that. Instead, she just keeps talking to Carmilla, because it allows her to keep her eyes glued to the fight while still occupying her mind – and she _knows_ she’s being selfish at the moment, but she figures she’ll have time to care about that later. Right now, she just can’t anyway.

“So, uh, I doubt you’d call Octavia boring”, Clarke muses, “which means she’s either bold or blunt. And I don’t think anyone has ever called Raven boring, for reasons, so I suppose that’s Bellamy?”

Carmilla stares at her, incredulous. She didn’t expect Clarke to actually try to figure out the nicknames by using plain old logic.

“Yeah”, she confirms, “and you’re his biggest competition.”

She doesn’t get a reply; actually, she’s pretty sure Clarke didn’t even hear her, because the Ice Queen suddenly lunged forward and swords crashed together loudly between the two adversaries while she was talking – not loudly enough to cover Carmilla’s voice, but the action certainly caught Clarke’s attention.

All of it.

“O—Okay, so, uh”, Clarke continues once Nia and Lexa go back to circling each other, “it leaves Octavia and Raven for bold and blunt, which, uh, well, Raven is kinda blunt, so I guess Octavia is bold?”

“You want a prize or something?” Carmilla grumbles.

After that, Clarke vaguely thinks about asking again what the banging noise was all about, but since she somehow doubts she’ll get a straightforward answer, she decides she’ll try to get the whole story from Bellamy later instead.

“Enjoying the view?” Carmilla says teasingly after a few seconds of silence.

“What?” Clarke frowns, confused and distracted.

Carmilla smirks. “You only have eyes for your girlfriend over there… I might be starting to feel neglected.”

“I— You— What— Lexa’s not my girlfriend!” Clarke splutters and huffs, barely glancing – glaring – at the vampire before her eyes get drawn to the fight again. “I just… This could end very badly. For all of us.”

Carmilla shrugs. “I’ll be fine either way.”

“Yeah, well, you’ll be the only one”, Clarke mutters, which causes the vampire to scoff.

“Have you seen her fight?” Carmilla asks, pointing at Lexa’s perfect guard then randomly gesturing with her hands in exasperation. “She’ll be fine too!”

“Actually, no, I’ve never really seen her fight before”, Clarke admits.

“So what, you can’t decide between being worried or turned on?”

“I’m not— Shut up. I’m worried for all of us.”

“ _Right_ ”, the vampire draws out mockingly. “I get it though, it _is_ kind of hot. Not ‘Carmilla-fighting-her-evil-mother-and-saving-everyone’ hot, but yeah… Hot.”

Clarke decides that she doesn’t want to know the backstory behind that statement right now – or ever, actually –, and she settles for not commenting on Carmilla’s remark either. She’s too much of an emotional mess at the moment to handle innuendoes of any kind – or to process what she’s feeling exactly, for that matter.

“Anyway… What happened between you two exactly?” Carmilla enquires, quite genuinely. She’s been curious for a while, given that she’s never had an actual answer to that question since she first heard about the Commander.

“Nothing”, Clarke retorts.

One, she doesn’t want to explain; two, it’s none of Carmilla’s business; three, now’s _really_ not the time anyway.

Especially since Lexa and Nia have stopped analyzing each other’s guard and have actually started fighting, which makes Clarke ten times as anxious as she was before. It’s one thing to wait for something to happen while tension builds up in the room, it’s another entirely to see two skilled warriors whirling around while avoiding the other’s blade as much as possible or trying to stay on their feet when their swords knock together harshly.

(The first time Nia puts a knee down, Clarke sighs with relief.)

(The first time Lexa ends up with her back hitting the ground, Clarke can’t prevent a small gasp from escaping her lips.)

“We probably don’t have the same definition of ‘nothing’”, Carmilla notes sarcastically.

“It’s complicated”, Clarke mumbles, her heartbeat calming down a little when Lexa gets back up unharmed.

“Try me”, Carmilla retorts.

The ‘been there, done that’ implied in her voice makes Clarke think for a second, and then she connects the dots.

With everything that’s happened since the peace delegation arrived in Polis, she _completely_ forgot about that book she had found and read, the one named ‘Carmilla’.

“Oh, you’re talking about your boyfriend?” she asks, hoping to derail the conversation away from the very sensitive topic that is Lexa and her.

There are at least five seconds of silence after that, during which the vampire stares at her as if she had lost her mind.

“My _what now_?!” Carmilla finally lets out, a little taken aback by that _very_ unexpected and unrelated response.

“Your boyfriend”, Clarke repeats, frowning a little and jumping involuntarily when Nia’s sword gets a little too close to Lexa’s head to her liking. “I, uh, I read about him.”

“You read abo—” Carmilla stops abruptly when the word ‘read’ really hits her. “READ?!” she nearly cries out, praying for her hunch to prove to be wrong.

Clarke can’t be talking about that book. No. _No way_. She swears she’s burned every damn copy of it a long time ago, so that stupid blonde _can’t_ be talking about that book. Period.

It’s so unusual for her to raise her voice that it earns her a half-concerned look from Clarke.

“Yeah, read. I found a book titled ‘Carmilla’ in the library, and I flipped through it out of curiosity. Why?”

Clarke certainly didn’t expect her diversion to work that well, but she’s not exactly complaining.

“Where is it? The book. Where. Is. It?!” Carmilla hisses, looking incredibly angry – to the point it almost scares Clarke, actually.

“Uh, I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure, I left it somewhere and I totally forgot about it afterwards, so I have no idea where it is now. Why is it so important?”

“I promised this fucking lunatic I’d destroy every copy of his piece of crap when I drained him dry, so you’d better remember where you left it”, Carmilla snarls, her voice suddenly sounding very similar to Lexa’s when she’s really pissed off but still speaking calmly.

Clarke gapes for a second. “I take it he wasn’t your boyfriend?” she asks cautiously.

“He _stalked_ me for years, nearly exposed us” – Clarke supposes this ‘us’ means ‘vampires’ – “and then made up this, UGH, love story that he turned into a book, so _not_ my boyfriend, _no_.”

The fight moves a little farther away from them while Carmilla answers, so Clarke has to take two steps forward in order not to lose sight of it. She then waits until Lexa manages to grab her second sword again – she lost it following a harsh blow but recovers it with a roll on the floor – before resuming: “So, approximately, how many anecdotes are true and how many aren’t?”

She did intend to use them to annoy Carmilla when she read them, after all, even if it slipped her mind almost immediately afterwards.

And she really needs to split her focus between the fight and something else.

“How many have you read?” Carmilla growls, sending a death glare Clarke’s way, who doesn’t even see it and just shrugs.

“Uh, about half of them?”

“Well, _obviously_ , you shouldn’t believe everything you read.”

“Obviously”, Clarke repeats absent-mindedly. “So if he wasn’t your complicated love story, then who was?”

When no answer comes, not even another growl or anything, Clarke frowns and glances Carmilla’s way.

Okay, wrong question. It was meant to be casual, not to hurt – but judging by the expression on the vampire’s face, she’s obviously in quite a lot of mental pain right now. She looks lost in herself, in memories that Clarke reawakened without meaning to.

Shit. That wasn’t the goal at all.

“So, did you really knock out the Duke of Gotha once?”

That question gets Carmilla’s attention.

“… Not just once”, the vampire admits. “But the guy had it coming.”

“How many times, then?” Clarke pushes.

Mentioning the book again efficiently distracted Carmilla, as Clarke had hoped. They might have their issues, but she knows enough about the pain of memories not to want to inflict it on anyone. And she does feels sorry for the vampire and her undoubtedly long years of loneliness.

“About thr—” Carmilla begins, before she realizes that she’s _actually_ starting to discuss the veracity of the contents of that book and oh _no_ , she’s _so_ not doing this. “It doesn’t mean you should believe anything else in that pile of garbage”, she adds, throwing a death glare Clarke’s way again.

Ah, there they go.

Pissed off vampire. Much better than sad vampire.

“It means that some things are true, though”, Clarke remarks, intending to tease Carmilla a little about it… but losing her trail of thoughts right after she says those words instead.

Because Lexa has started to force Nia to step back, making her concede ground foot after foot; and for the first time since the beginning of the fight, the Ice Queen appears to be struggling to attack instead of just defending herself. Uncertainty, rather than outright fear, suddenly flickers on her face once she finds herself back to the place where the fight started, near the center of the room, and when she glances at the door leading to the corridor, which stayed open after Carmilla’s arrival, Clarke immediately understands that Nia is searching for a way out.

Well, she won’t get one.

Seconds later, Clarke pushes the door shut. She doesn’t want to know what would happen to them if the Ice Queen got away after that fight and they subsequently got stuck in the castle.

When Lexa disarms Nia, the sword flying out of the Queen’s hand to land a dozen feet to the side, Clarke allows herself to breathe again. She didn’t make the wrong choice by closing the door – she didn’t potentially make the situation worse for the Commander (and them all) by blocking the only issue.

Of course, Nia immediately attempts to go grab her weapon again as soon as she loses her handle on it, but Lexa doesn’t let her.

When the Queen tries to lunge to the side, she finds herself forced to step back instead, until the wall gets dangerously close behind her.

And so for the first time, Nia wonders if she didn’t make a mistake by starting this duel.

For the first time in a very long time, she remembers what beginning to panic feels like.

For the first time in her forty-eight years of existence, she envisions to run away like a coward if it means she gets to live.

But by the time her calculating thoughts catch up with the idea of her impending defeat and she considers the idea of yelling to her archers to kill all the strangers in the room, her back hits the wall.

Which is how, for the first and the last time in her life, Nia understands what it’s like to be paralyzed by fear.

Not a single word manages to make it out of her throat when Lexa raises her weapons for the fatal blow, looking back at her with a mix of hatred, thirst for revenge and long-awaited relief.

“Gon Kostia”, is the last thing she hears before the two swords cross paths in front of her neck and put an end to her decades-long reign of terror.

Unable to fully process the idea of her imminent death, the Ice Queen dies with incredulity written all over her face, the expression frozen for eternity as her severed head rolls slowly on the marble floor, painting it a dark shade of red until it stops moving a few feet away from her lifeless body crumpled against the wall.

Lexa stares at it for several painful seconds before she swallows down her feelings and straightens her spine again. The Commander never shows weakness.

Turning around, she glares at Nia’s guards as she announces: “Azplana ste daun. Spek daun gon ai. Nau.”

Seven of them drop to one knee, bowing their heads; the other two stare at the Commander defiantly, knowing the fate that awaits them for this disrespect and accepting it fully.

There’s a dangerous flame in Lexa’s eyes when she strides towards them with her swords still firmly in her hands.

“Who’s Costia?” Raven asks with a frown, getting back up now that the fight is over and they will soon leave.

The only reason why Clarke hears the question is because she took quite a number of disgusted steps backwards when Nia’s head started rolling towards her. She debates whether she should answer it or not for a few seconds, but she quickly decides against it: she’s the only one here who’s ever heard about the Commander’s past, and she’s aware that it’s not her place to tell about it.

“You have more in common with Lexa than you’re aware of”, Clarke finally settles for saying cryptically.

After that, she finally allows herself to relax a little, forgetting about Lexa and the fight if only for five minutes so that she can fully focus on her friends.

“I’m really glad to see you’re okay”, Clarke murmurs as she steps forward to pull Raven into a hug, mirroring the words the brunette had uttered the first time they’d gotten a chance to catch up in Polis, after her argument with Bellamy and Octavia.

“That makes two of us”, Raven agrees teasingly, returning the hug. “So, how did you guys find me?”

“It’s a bit of a long story”, Clarke answers, not quite knowing where to start.

“Yeah, a two-day-long one”, Carmilla cuts in, glaring a little.

“Oh I’m never going to hear the end of that one”, Clarke mumbles with a small sigh. “But thanks, by the way. For coming and helping us.” She then smiles at Bellamy and Octavia. “It’s good to see you two made it out unharmed too.”

Behind her, Carmilla gapes a little, but nobody is really looking at her anymore so – thankfully – nobody notices her brain freeze. She wasn’t expecting to be thanked for coming along, quite honestly, and it makes her end up at a loss for words for once. She doesn’t know how to react: it’s been way too long since the last time she interacted properly with humans – or, well, anyone, really –, and since her conversations with Clarke and the others haven’t been particularly friendly thus far, the thanks really come as a surprise.

(Okay, so maybe she isn’t going to make Clarke pay too much for this hell of a trip after all?)

She still hasn’t found her voice again when the Arkers’ chatting gets cut short by the sound of the double doors of the throne room opening and they all turn around to see Roan walking in.

He’s not even in the middle of the gigantic room yet when Clarke furrows her brow and asks: “What are you doing here?”

In Lexa’s plan, he was supposed to stay hidden, watching Echo until Carmilla, Bellamy and Octavia got back out of the castle with Raven. After that, he was supposed to go in alone to give orders to release Echo’s parents, and to come back with them. He was never supposed to be in the throne room, much less… without his prisoner.

“Where is Echo?” Lexa adds right after Clarke’s question, her voice sharp and demanding.

Roan waits until he’s close enough to talk in an undertone before he answers: “On her way out. With her parents.”

Lexa tilts her head, controlled anger appearing in her eyes. “This is not what we had discussed.”

“This is how I obtained Raven’s location when we were under time pressure. It is done.”

“Explain yourself”, Lexa orders, while Clarke gets closer to the pair to hear what they’re saying.

“I made my own deal with her”, Roan says, holding the Commander’s gaze. “I would have come here with her to get her parents whether Raven was in the castle as well or not. As the Prince, I could give orders to liberate them – as we later agreed on –, but my deal had one major difference with yours: she would be free to leave with them. I offered her something you wouldn’t have: her life.”

“She’s responsible for the death of over twenty of my warriors”, Lexa hisses, her eyes now glowing with wrath. “She must pay with her life.”

“What? No”, Clarke chimes in, which pleases Roan a great deal – he was counting on her supporting his decision, though she doesn’t know that. “Lexa, she’s been manipulated her whole life, her sister got killed because of her, and her parents— She just wanted— You would have broken your deal with her if Roan hadn’t made one first?!” she asks, revolted.

“No”, Lexa answers, her tone cold. “She only ever mentioned her parents’ freedom. Her own life would have never been part of any deal I would have agreed to make.”

“And she knew that”, Roan confirms. “I did too. I knew I had more to offer her than you did. It made her talk, and fast, which is what you wanted. Her information was correct. I honored my part of the deal; I let her leave.”

He knows he can and will get away with this, simply because the Commander _needs_ him on Azgeda’s throne. They’ve been thinking of ways to overthrow Nia and mapping out what would happen afterwards for years, so now that his mother is dead, he’s well aware that there is no one else Lexa will trust with his clan’s leadership. The pleasant consequence is that he has a little room for maneuver when it comes to navigating the Commander’s orders and rules; not too much, of course, but enough that he knew he could make his deal with Echo. The spy had probably reached the same conclusions, actually, because she never asked him for a reason to trust his word. It wasn’t hard to figure out that he was close to the Commander after the ceremony anyway – which meant resolutely against Nia –, and to understand his motivations – namely and mainly, to take the throne.

Besides, Echo’s life came at a price. That was the last part of their deal: she agreed to become Roan’s advisor once he’s crowned King. The simple truth is that as Azgeda’s new leader, he needs to have someone who knows more of his mother’s secrets than he does by his side – if only to rid his clan of her biggest fans before he ends up dead at their hands –, so all things considered, he really had absolutely no interest in the Commander ending the spy’s life.

“Lexa, Echo doesn’t deserve to die”, Clarke pleads. “She’s a victim of Nia too. I know she did terrible things, but I think… I think she deserves a second chance.”

“We will talk about this again later”, Lexa warns Roan, clearly not considering the conversation to be over. “But for now, I must first make sure Nia’s archers will not be a threat in the immediate future.”

“They won’t”, Roan assures, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. “And you have Echo to thank for that.”

 

* * *

_\- About half an hour ago -_

 

Roan jogs in the hidden corridor with a torch in his hand, Echo three steps ahead of him so he can keep an eye on her. She is obviously angry at his decision not to go directly to the armory where her parents are forced to work until late in the night, but she is smart enough not to protest. She’s well aware that it would only make them lose time.

Roan was nine years old when he stumbled upon a mechanism similar to the one he used earlier while playing alone in the castle’s corridors. He had jumped on the base of a statue, lost balance, and only miraculously avoided a fall by grabbing the first thing his hand could reach: the metal torch held by the statue.

He ended up flat on the ground anyway, the wind getting knocked out of his lungs, because surprise had made him loosen his grip to the point it had become useless.

The base of the statue had been rotating, revealing an opening on a narrow corridor parallel to the one he was currently in.

Dumbfounded, the young Roan gaped for several seconds, trying to process what had just happened, and he only shook himself out of it when the statue moved back to its original spot. Excited, he glanced left and right to make sure that no one had seen the statue move, and when he got the confirmation that he was well and truly alone, he jumped to pull on the torch again.

This time, instead of just watching, he found in himself the audacity to step into the hidden corridor. His heart was pounding hard in his chest and he got back out immediately, afraid of ending up stuck in the dark if he couldn’t find the mechanism to make the statue rotate from the other side, but his excitement was unlike anything he’d ever experienced so far in his life.

The next day, he came back full of determination and with a real torch in his hand. Mustering courage, he entered the corridor and waited for the opening to close again while searching for the mechanism to get back out, and he sighed with relief when he found it consisted in a simple metal bar to pull to the side.

In the months after that, Roan started exploring the hidden corridors thoroughly. The first one he had discovered lead to several others, and he soon realized that he could access many – if not all – parts of the castle through them. At some point, he began mentally mapping the different mechanisms he found, though he never opened them from the inside before checking where they led first. It became his most time-consuming pastime: get in the hidden corridors, at first through the only entrance he was sure of – the statue with the torch – then always through another one he discovered in _his own room_ ; find a mechanism; try to figure out its location; go to said approximate location when no one else is there – so often in the middle of the night… –; and finally push and pull on absolutely everything to find the outside mechanism to get the opening to the hidden corridors.

Needless to say, it wasn’t easy _at all_ at first, but after a while his visualization of the castle began to improve, so he would immediately get a more accurate idea of the locations of the openings he was discovering and thus wasted less time searching in wrong places. That, and he also started to understand the logic behind the hidden mechanisms better, which clearly helped as well.

It hadn’t taken long for Roan to realize that _no one_ knew about these secret corridors, not even his mother, and he was thrilled about it. He loved the idea of having something that was only _his_ , not to mention something that allowed him to go to places he wasn’t supposed to be in and witness things he was never supposed to see. Indeed, a year or so in his exploration, he found out that there were some sort of peepholes in the corridors – generally disguised as cracks between some stones and shielded behind metal covers –, and once he knew that, he could easily check for someone’s presence in the main rooms or corridors then slip inside if he was alone. Sometimes, he used the peepholes to watch what was happening instead, and spending time behind the walls simply became a habit, even as he grew older.

Some parts of the castle seemed to be devoid of any hidden corridors, though, because he had explored each and every one of those in the web he had found – they were all linked, through intersections or narrow spiral stairs –, and none of them came close to the most important rooms of the castle: notably, the throne room and Nia’s bedroom. Roan figured it had to do with privacy; whoever had built the castle didn’t want to be spied on.

He was fourteen when he accidentally realized he’d been wrong. There _were_ hidden corridors around the main rooms.

He was just leaning against a wall, as he had done hundreds of time already in various parts of the web of corridors during the past five years, when he felt that something was off, wrong, different… He couldn’t pinpoint it exactly, and he didn’t give it much thought, until later that day when he was lying in bed trying to fall asleep and something clicked in his mind.

Wood. His hands had been touching wood, not stones.

It took Roan three weeks to figure out how to open that door, which was so well painted that it mimicked the stones around it perfectly. Three weeks to understand that he needed to push on one specific rock nearby to be able to rotate the wooden panel at the same time. He ended up in another web of hidden corridors then – one that was leading to a room that must have been of great importance at some point, but that was never used anymore.

It kind of made sense, now that he knew this other web existed. Whoever had built the castle actually wanted to be able to enter the secret corridors from anywhere – it was an escape route if they ever needed one, in addition to being a way to spy on their people –, but they also wanted everyone to _believe_ that the most important rooms couldn’t be accessed this way, if someone ever were to find the rest of the web like Roan did. It was clever, really.

It took him almost one more year to find out how to go to his mother’s bedroom, and not long after that he finally discovered the door opening on the corridor surrounding the throne room. By then, he had started giving some thought to the way his mother ruled Azgeda, had also started gathering information by listening to people who didn’t know he was behind the wall, and though he was offended by what he heard at first, his teenage self wasn’t stubborn enough anymore not to analyze all of it properly. And once he began spying on the throne room, more and more doubt and questions just kept creeping their way into his mind, until he understood exactly how much he disagreed with his mother.

They had never been close, but as a child Roan didn’t dislike her either. He was often punished and never hugged, trained with warriors more than educated with care, but he didn’t mind too much. He was used to being alone and used to her coldness; he had never known anything else.

It’s only when he began hearing the servants talk that he realized his mother was actually _kind_ with him, compared with how she treated everyone else. It’s only after he started getting curious about life outside the castle – castle he had very rarely left in his life so far – that he understood Nia ruled with fear and not an ounce of compassion. It’s only after weeks and weeks of tossing and turning in his bed at night, sleepless because his thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, that he reached his final conclusion: what his mother did to her people was _wrong_. They weren’t her enemies, like the other clans they were at war against, they were _her people_ , but she hardly treated them any better.

He tried to broach the topic, but he soon understood he would never manage to change her mind. There was simply no reasoning with her. The only thing Roan’s newfound interest in politics lead to was more training, and discussions about ‘leadership’ that often left him horrified though he didn’t show it. Like almost everyone else, he easily agreed about the ‘blood must have blood’ policy, but he did not enjoy gratuitous cruelty – nor did he find right the idea of people working as slaves while others, like him, lived in luxury.

From then on, he started getting close to some servants and guards he had heard talk against Nia regularly, and pretty much joined some sort of resistance movement inside the castle. He would help by providing supplies sometimes, or even – less often – information; he would also invent excuses to protect some people.

It lasted for years. He didn’t really know what else, what _more_ to do when Nia was in charge and there was no changing that. Of course, there were one or two failed murder attempts on his mother’s life, but no one ever talked to him about it and he never asked. Despite everything, he couldn’t resolve to the idea of playing a part in her death.

It lasted until Costia.

Roan had already seen glimpses of his mother torturing people, starting with her spies during their training whenever she made him attend the sessions, but he never lingered behind the walls of these rooms when he heard screams. Torture could differentiate the strong and the weak; it was justified, he kept telling himself. Sure, not when she arrested resistance fighters who were just trying to help others – that was different, and it made him angry and sad, but there was nothing he could do for these people once they were in Nia’s hands. So he just preferred not to think about it.

When ten warriors brought Costia to the castle, tied and bruised but fierce despite everything, her chin held high and her eyes defiant, Roan got curious. He got curious because from her accent, that girl was not from Azgeda, and it was rare for Nia to interrogate someone from another clan, even during a war. He got curious, so he asked who she was, and he got an answer before the girl was taken away. He got curious, so he followed from the hidden corridors and waited until Nia arrived in the torture room.

That night put an end to his years of blinding himself when it came to his mother’s true level of cruelty.

He stood there the whole time, horrified and incapable of turning away from the peephole – incapable of not wanting to know anymore.

He watched the sadism gleaming in Nia’s eyes, he listened to her taunting words, he heard Costia’s endless screams.

He watched his mother become more and more barbaric as the hours ticked by and her frustration increased, he listened as she insulted the Commander over and over again, he saw the tears falling down Costia’s cheeks.

But he didn’t intervene. He didn’t because he couldn’t, because it would have exposed him, and because he knew it would change literally nothing. He knew Nia couldn’t be reasoned with, especially when it had a link to the Commander – that young girl who wanted to force his mother into a Coalition she hated the very idea of (unless she could be the one to lead it, of course), that young girl who had been driving her crazy for weeks.

He didn’t intervene, but something broke in him that night. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Costia, barely more than a teenager, defying his mother until the very end, crying and screaming when the tortures were becoming too intense, but never saying a single word. She protected the Commander with her silence; she never broke, even when she was barely hanging onto life. She probably knew she would die either way, whether she talked or not, but she could have put an early end to her suffering if she had given Nia some information.

She didn’t.

That night, Roan witnessed utter destruction and understood the power of love.

That night, he made his choice.

When Costia died from one too many cuts in her flesh and Nia cut off her head in a fit of rage, storming out of the room afterwards, Roan realized he was crying.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried before that.

The following day, he used the hidden corridors to steal Costia’s bracelet, her daggers, her bow and her quiver, which had been brought back to the castle with her, and then he waited for a week so it wouldn’t be suspicious when he told Nia he was going on a trip alone. It wasn’t the first time and she didn’t question it, so he left for Polis without a look back.

He needed to talk to that Commander.

He had seen glimpses of her only twice so far, when she had come to the castle to negotiate with Nia, though Roan had attended neither of those meetings. And because of the size of the throne room, he couldn’t hear much from the surrounding corridor either, so he didn’t know what to expect exactly.

He didn’t hesitate, though.

He knew he was risking his life by going to Polis, but he didn’t care. If trying to do the right thing got him killed this time, then so be it.

He presented himself to Lexa weaponless, respecting the rules of the city, and a sword almost ran through him before he got a chance to explain why he was there. The Commander managed to keep her cool enough to listen, though, and his words surprised her. She thought Roan had been sent by his mother to twist the knife once more – as if sending Costia’s head back to Polis with Nia’s regards hadn’t been cruel enough.

(Roan wasn’t aware that his mother had done that, and hearing about it only strengthened his resolve as he tried not to feel sick to his stomach.)

When he opened the small bag containing Costia’s bracelet so he could return it to Lexa, he saw her impassible mask break and her face flicker with emotions. The Commander was obviously struggling to regain control of them; her eyes were uncharacteristically glossy when she took the bracelet with a slightly trembling hand, and Roan had to look away before emotions threatened to overwhelm him too. He had had to hide Costia’s weapons before he entered Polis so he couldn’t give them to her right away, but he gave her a precise location once they had both regained their composure and Lexa nodded her thanks.

He was honest with her after that, when he explained why he was here. His mother was cruel with her people – with everyone, really, apart maybe from him – and had to be stopped, though he refused to help if it meant killing her. He had never known his father, who had apparently died before he was born – Roan wasn’t naive enough anymore to believe his mother had no link to his passing whatsoever –, and ending up an orphan was an idea he was not fond of, even though he was twenty-four and Nia had never been much of a mother to him to begin with.

The Commander didn’t trust him and didn’t tell him anything, which didn’t surprise him much, but she did mention she was grateful for the support and wouldn’t be killing Nia in the foreseeable future. He knew enough about politics to figure out why on his own.

He went back to his mother’s castle soon afterwards so the chances of being spotted in Polis by some of the Queen’s spies were minimal, and he immediately started using the hidden corridors again to gather as much knowledge about her next plans as he could. Actually, listening from behind the walls turned into a nearly full-time job once Nia had to capitulate and finally join the Coalition, because she became even more bloodthirsty, touchy, over-suspicious, ruthless and paranoid than she’d been before – an achievement in itself… –, and as a result started sharing less and less information with her son, which meant he needed to get it all on his own.

She clearly didn’t know about his meeting with Lexa – otherwise, Roan was sure he wouldn’t have been free to move around in the castle anymore –, but her newfound level of paranoia made her grow distrustful of him anyway. (Sure, there had _always_ been veiled wariness shrouding their relationship since he was a teenager, made clear by the fact that Nia never fully trained him to take her succession – no doubt afraid he might want that to happen before she died of natural causes –, but it had remained at a decently low level until then.)

With the Coalition, though, came a whole new degree of coldness and distant behavior from her.

The difference wasn’t meant to be too obvious, of course, since Nia tried her best to hide how much she didn’t share with him anymore, but Roan knew. He would have known just by noticing the suspicious glances she now threw his way from time to time, to be honest; what really sealed the deal, though, is the number of secret schemes and projects his mother kept from him from then on. Fortunately, he still managed to hear most of them by regularly eavesdropping on her meetings – her spies’ oral reports being the most interesting ones –, and thus could keep up to date with her plans despite the scarce information she was relaying to him. He could have frankly done without the added workload, though: given his mother’s crazy meeting places and hours, following her around as much as he could every day – and sometimes at night, too – turned out to be a truly exhausting task he didn’t particularly enjoy.

Especially since he still needed to fulfill his usual duties, and to be seen in the castle regularly during the rest of the time so he wouldn’t raise anyone’s suspicions.

But, at least, his efforts were worth it: month after month, relentless hours of snooping after relentless hours of snooping, he managed to gather quite an impressive amount of information about what his mother was up to.

Whenever he suspected it could endanger the Coalition, he went to Polis as discreetly as he could to repeat what he knew to Lexa; as for the rest, he preferred to keep it to himself – for example, the fact that Nia started to do research about the ancient world, hoping to use technology to kill the Commander and to take her place one day. The only way to know this was through spying, and Roan didn’t want to risk his mother discovering the hidden corridors if she tried to understand how Lexa could have heard about her research.

Granted, the Queen did tell him about it eventually because she knew he liked to read old books in his spare time as a teenager and figured his input would be valuable, but that didn’t change anything. Among the ten people who knew, Roan was the one most likely to betray her and the only one with the resources  – not to mention enough free time – to go to Polis to get an audience with the Commander; so, for his own security, telling Lexa was out of the question.

For around three years, in addition to relaying information to the Commander, Roan kept helping the people of his clan in any way he could, just like he did before. Overall, not much changed: there was no major political incident that would have justified Lexa confronting Nia, and, since she didn’t know anyone other than Roan from the resistance movement in Azgeda, she couldn’t have tried to have the Ice Queen murdered even if she wanted to.

And it was clear that Lexa _really_ wanted Nia dead, preferably by her hand – something that Roan couldn’t blame her for. He had never told her he had seen Costia being tortured and killed, but he only needed to remember the young girl’s screams to understand Lexa’s thirst for blood.

He never shared it, though. He _always_ refused to play a role in his mother’s death, and the Commander respected that; they were hoping to at least dethrone Nia, but they never had an opportunity.

Until Raven got abducted.

When Lexa told him his mother was most probably responsible for that, Roan was under no illusions. If they didn’t act fast, _very_ fast, Raven would end up like Costia.

He refused to let that happen. He stopped having qualms about playing a role in his mother’s death when he imagined another young, innocent girl screaming in one of the torture rooms of the castle.

He couldn’t save Costia, but he would save Raven even if it meant Nia had to die for it.

The Queen had been the cause of way too much suffering for way too long. It was time to finally put an end to her reign, one way or another. It was time for Roan to stop hiding in the shadows, merely doing damage control, and it was time to really act.

The night before they left for Alboli, neither he nor the Commander slept much. They spent several hours discussing their options instead; in the end, they decided that, if Bellamy, Octavia and Carmilla managed to get back out of the castle with Raven, then he and Lexa would ask for another audience with Nia the next day to confront her about the kidnapping. The Commander would pretend that Raven escaped on her own, hence giving them proof of treason without betraying their involvement, and it would be the valid reason to overthrow the Queen that they had been waiting for for so long.

However this audience ended for Nia – alive or not –, Roan didn’t really care anymore. Lexa had more than enough legitimate grounds for a death sentence at this point, he knew as much, and he also firmly believed that his mother did deserve it, especially since he was now sure that there was no other way to stop her for good. He was even willing to offer to let Echo help, through information or skills, if it turned out to be necessary…

And if she was actually on their side, of course. Roan was too familiar with his mother’s spies not to have lingering doubts about Echo’s honesty, but he was inclined to believe she was telling the truth and would probably help them in the future if they needed her to, though: for starters, nothing in her attitude indicated anything close to attempted duplicity while he was striking the deal to get Raven’s location with her, but, perhaps more importantly, she had everything to gain from Nia’s death if the story about her parents were indeed true. The Queen was influential enough to reach them wherever they chose to hide, even if they were in Polis under the Commander’s protection and she were temporarily jailed – no matter where – while awaiting her execution, so Echo’s parents wouldn’t be truly safe until Nia was out of the picture for good. And the spy was more than smart enough to understand that on her own.

Which is why Roan had felt confident enough to tell Lexa that Echo now had an interest in her long-awaited wish – killing Nia – being fulfilled, even if they hadn’t discussed it openly.

Besides, the faster this was all dealt with, the faster everyone would go back to Polis, and the faster Echo could come back from exile. Roan wasn’t a fool: he knew that the Commander wouldn’t spare the spy’s life even if she helped take down the Queen, so she’d need to flee at some point and stay away until Lexa left the castle; until then, it wouldn’t be safe for her to come back to her home with her parents and assist him as he fixed Azgeda’s situation – his first, giant task as the new king.

Because, yes, he needs Echo’s knowledge, even though he’s sure that the Commander won’t care much about this argument; hence why he chose to make his own deal behind her back. It’ll make Lexa angry, Roan is well aware of that, but he’s also confident that she’ll come to see the soundness of it after things settle a little: if everything goes according to plan, it’ll benefit absolutely everyone on their side, after all. Echo’s useful life is a small price to pay for that.

So instead of waiting for the others outside with his prisoner, as Lexa had ordered him to, he’s now guiding her through the castle instead, heading towards the throne room through the hidden corridors so that he can get a much-needed update on the Commander’s audience with his mother before he settles on one course of action to liberate Echo’s parents. He wants to know how much time they truly have; besides, if it looks like Nia is being a serious threat for one reason or another, then the freeing will have to wait. He needs the Commander to get back out of the castle alive – that’s his top priority.

Reaching the door leading to the corridor surrounding the throne room doesn’t take too long from the entrance he used, so soon enough Roan is pushing a small piece of metal aside and glancing inside through a peephole.

The situation he discovers is, to say the least, completely unexpected: Lexa and Nia are currently in a sword fight, while Clarke and… the others from Skaikru are watching.

Huh. That’s certainly not what he was presuming he’d see.

Why Bellamy, Octavia and Carmilla didn’t leave after they found Raven is beyond him, but whether or not this was part of a side plan he wasn’t made aware of, it doesn’t change the result.

(And if they ended up in the throne room by mistake, well… That’s truly unfortunate.)

(Maybe it could have been avoided, but he didn’t tell the Skaikru group about the hidden corridors on purpose – firstly because they wouldn’t have known how to navigate them, but also because the less people are made aware of their existence, the better.)

(Echo knowing about them now, since he had no other choice if he wanted to move fast and unnoticed, is already one person too many to his liking.)

Roan takes another look inside the room and pulls a face when he sees Lexa being forced to take several steps back because of Nia’s powerful blows. But he knows that he has no way to intervene in a duel, unfortunately, so the only thing he can do at the moment is hope that the Commander will win.

And he doesn’t like it one bit.

“Her archers are in place.”

Echo’s comment, coming from a few steps to Roan’s right where she found another peephole, causes him to frown.

“Her archers?”

The spy quirks an eyebrow. “You were never privy to this information?”

“Explain yourself”, Roan orders with a glare, unable to figure out what Echo is talking about.

“Ten archers are always in position during important meetings. It has been the case for years.”

He was indeed not aware of this. His mother never told him, and he never heard anything about archers in the throne room while he was spying on her.

“I didn’t see any of them.”

“They are not in the room, but hidden behind the stones, like us”, Echo details. “I know where the openings are, high in the walls. I can spot them. Look to the right of the third statue’s head.”

And, indeed, if Roan scans that area carefully, he can make out the tip of an arrow barely jutting out from a crack between two stones.

“The moment she believes her life is in serious danger, she will order them to shoot”, Echo continues. “The strangers in the room will all be dead in seconds. I know how to get to the archers, but we need to go back to the main corridors.”

“Will you help neutralize the threat?” Roan asks, challenging Echo’s allegiances.

“I am still not entirely sure I wish for the Queen to be killed”, she shoots back, annoyed, “but I am, however, certain that the Commander’s death would absolutely not be in my interest.”

“Smart reasoning. Walk in front of me”, Roan orders, and Echo obeys without a word.

They use the first clear exit he finds to leave the hidden corridors; then, as soon as they’re back in the main ones, the spy leads him to a hatch that he didn’t even know existed. They hurry upstairs, killing the only guard who stands in their way without hesitation, and slip through a small door in silence once Roan has cut the ropes around Echo’s wrists.

He really hopes he’s not making a mistake by doing this, or by giving her his second knife.

Thankfully, he quickly finds out that his choice was the right one.

Echo effortlessly kills the only archer positioned in the part of the corridor they arrive in, located right behind Nia’s throne though twenty feet higher, then she grabs his bow, runs towards the left corner, and shoots four arrows in a row with perfect aim. By the time Roan appears at her side, four warriors are on the ground, dead or soon to be.

“Take care of the one behind the far wall, above the doors”, Echo orders, not paying any attention anymore to the fact that she’s talking to the Prince. She’s used to being the one in command; her reflexes, polished up by years of training and field work, kick in on instinct.

She leaves to kill the four archers positioned on the other side of the room before Roan has time to answer, so he decides against commenting on her insubordination and follows her instructions instead. Echo has much better aim with a bow than he does anyway, and since they still have the element of surprise on their side thanks to the noise coming from the fight inside the room, she won’t need any more help than she did for the first four dead archers that Roan is currently passing by.

He grabs a bow and two arrows before he reaches the corner, but he only needs the first one to kill the last remaining archer, who doesn’t see him before it’s too late. He might not have Echo’s skills, but he’s still far from incompetent.

The spy rounds the opposite corner less than two seconds after the archer collapses, and she doesn’t waste time before demanding: “My parents.”

Nodding once, Roan takes a few steps so that he can glance inside the room to get an update on the situation… and instantly discovers that Nia has been properly decapitated by Lexa.

Glancing away, he swallows down whatever feelings are currently trying to push their way into his mind and stares at Echo instead. “Get your parents, and leave. Don’t come back until the Commander is on her way to Polis.”

Given the recent developments of the situation, Lexa will focus on everything that isn’t Nia much faster than Roan had anticipated, so she’ll most certainly want to have Echo executed as early as tomorrow – and he won’t let that happen. The spy more than proved her value today; he’s certain she’ll be immensely useful in the future, but for now, it’s without a doubt safer if she doesn’t stay in the castle: Lexa would hunt her down.

Echo narrows her eyes. “You promised to help me.”

“You know the way out through the kitchens and there aren’t many guards in the armory during the night. You are more than capable of freeing your parents on your own”, he replies calmly.

“The Queen is dead.”

It’s a statement born out of a clever, educated guess and not a question, but Roan confirms it anyway. “Yes.”

Echo nods once, slowly, apparently trying to come to terms with the idea. The Queen may have killed her sister and enslaved her parents, but years of learning to worship her are obviously still not that easy to shake off.

“We will return when it is safe”, Echo finally says.

Roan answers with a nod of his own.

They make their way back to the hatch in silence after that, and it’s only when they’re ready to part ways that Echo speaks again. “Thank you.” After a beat, she adds: “Tell Bellamy I am sorry for using him.”

“I will”, he assures; so Echo gives him one final nod before she rounds the corner.

Left alone, Roan continues to walk straight ahead, heading for the throne room’s doors.

 

* * *

 

After giving a quick, watered-down version of this story to the Commander – he mostly twists what happened so he can avoid mentioning the hidden corridors –, Roan relays Echo’s message to Bellamy, who doesn’t comment on it.

“See?” Clarke says to Lexa. “Echo is on our side. She doesn’t deserve to die for what Nia made her do.”

“I will discuss this further with the Ice Nation’s new King”, the Commander promises, and Clarke can tell the conversation will probably be heated.

She’s quite confident in its outcome, though. Roan will need to not even attempt poking at the Commander’s limits for a while once all of this is over, sure, but Clarke is certain Lexa won’t bother starting a witch hunt to get Echo – it’s just not worth it.

“I will escort you to some guests’ rooms so you can sleep in beds tonight”, Roan tells the Arkers and Carmilla. “But not everyone will appreciate Nia’s death, so this castle will become unsafe rapidly and you will need to leave tomorrow while I take care of the situation.”

“We will all return to Polis right after your coronation”, Lexa decides.

They can make Roan’s new status as King official early in the morning if they do little more than an unostentatious proclamation; they’ll just have to work efficiently during the entire night to prepare it. They won’t have much else to do anyway: they’ve already discussed the politics following a transfer of power to Roan so many times that going over the plans for Azgeda’s future now that it’s happening should be fairly quick.

Sure, they could take their time a bit more and just send everyone else back while Lexa stays, but the truth is, she doesn’t want the Arkers to cross the Ice Nation territory alone – and especially not while the news of Nia’s death potentially stir trouble in the whole clan. She much prefers to travel with them to make sure they stay out of harm’s way and arrive safely.

(By ‘they’, read: mostly Clarke.)

(Who could probably be protected just fine by Carmilla, to be perfectly honest, but Lexa tends to have trust issues. Particularly when it comes to ensuring Clarke’s safety.)

“My guards will watch everyone’s rooms while you sleep tonight”, Lexa adds, in a tone that clearly states it’s not up for discussion.

“I know some people who can be trusted; I will ask them to join your guards”, Roan offers. “They know the castle well, they will be useful in case someone loyal to my mother attempts something tonight. Besides, five rooms are quite a number to watch.”

“Four”, Bellamy cuts in. “Four rooms. I’m not leaving Raven.”

“Me neither”, Octavia asserts. “Three will be enough.”

Conflicted, Clarke looks at the two siblings, then at Raven, at Roan, and at Raven again questioningly. She wants to know the brunette’s side of the story, but she’s not sure where she stands with her friends and she doesn’t want to impose on them.

“Make it two”, Raven says with a small smile. “Clarke’s coming with us.”

The reassurance instantly makes a mirroring smile appear on Clarke’s lips.

Everyone turns to Carmilla then, though no one is really expecting her or wanting her to join.

“And Carmilla is going to enjoy a nice bedroom _alone_ ”, the vampire asserts, confirming their stance. Then, she mutters: “You all have a really weird relationship.”

“Very well”, Roan nods. “Follow me.”

“Uh, one second”, Raven blurts out.

She walks to Nia’s discarded dress with a quite heavy limp; neither Bellamy nor Octavia offer to help her, though, knowing they’d only get a death glare as an answer. They’re not running for their life anymore, so stubborn Raven will be back to being stubborn Raven.

She searches for something in the dress without any further explanation and everyone looks at her with a frown until she gets back up with a triumphant grin.

“Figured she’d keep it close!” Raven exclaims, revealing the recording device in her hand as she turns back around. “I spent two days building this thing and got kidnapped because of it, I’m not leaving without it now. I suppose you’ll want to keep it?” she asks Clarke, though the question is mostly rhetorical and she throws it to the blonde immediately.

“Good guess”, Clarke thanks her once the device is secure in her hands, and not almost on the floor anymore.

(Raven’s aim is good, it’s her own ability to properly grab something flying in the air towards her that sucks a lot more.)

“Nice catch”, Carmilla sasses.

Clarke glares at her a little. “I’m tired”, she mumbles – which is true, but also not the reason why she almost let the recorder drop, and… and she doesn’t know why she even bothers to keep commenting on the vampire’s trolling, to be honest.

“You always suck at this”, Raven remarks with a smirk as she comes back to the group.

“Can’t say that surprises me”, Carmilla comments.

(Okay, Raven is definitely her favorite brunette.)

(Anyone who teases Clarke immediately wins points in her book.)

Said Clarke glares at her again, and tries the lamest comeback the vampire has ever heard in her life: “I’m not the only one who sucks here.”

“Nope, but you’re the only one who sucks everywhere”, Carmilla shoots back, almost laughing at the five-year-old-level answer.

“Who else is having very disturbing, probably not intended images in mind right now?” Raven asks, slightly horrified.

By the look on Bellamy and Octavia’s faces, they are at least three… And the number turns to four when Clarke figures out the double meaning of the sentence.

“Continue this discussion if you wish, but please do so while walking”, Roan intervenes. He and the Commander have work to do; Lexa may be willing to wait five minutes for the Arkers to stop teasing each other, but he has no issues with chiming in.

Carmilla’s growing smirk at the sight of the B-Squad’s disgusted faces quickly fades away and she sighs, annoyed, as she follows Roan.

“I want my room to be as far from theirs as possible”, she demands. “I don’t want their weird slumber party to disturb my sleep.”

“Logistically, it is not efficient”, Roan retorts.

He really doesn’t like Carmilla, and he’s making no effort to hide it. Meeting someone through the threat of torture tends to have that effect on people.

“Logistically, I don’t care”, the vampire shoots back. “And we can all agree that I don’t need protection.”

“Even in your sleep?” Octavia can’t help but push. Killing twenty people in two minutes while awake is… rather inhuman already, really, but doing so right after being awakened by an attack would be quite a few levels higher.

“Oh, I’d be pleased to show you what I can do in bed”, Carmilla quips, her usual smirk back on her face.

“Before you ask: no, she never really stops flirting”, Clarke warns Octavia with a tired yet sympathetic sigh. “Welcome to my world.”

 

* * *

 

“So, how did you guys find me?” Raven asks once they’re settled in a room.

The bed they’re sitting on is supposed to be large enough for two people only, but none of the Arkers care. They’ve slept in much worse places during their life; being squeezed together for one night is hardly an issue.

“Your side of the story first”, Octavia shoots back.

Raven raises an eyebrow. “And why should I be the one to start?”

“Because you’re outnumbered?” Bellamy points out teasingly.

“Huh. Clarke?”

“Sorry, I’m with them”, Clarke confirms with a smile. She feels like it’s been forever since the last time she could banter like this with some of her friends, and she had missed it terribly.

“Okay, fine”, Raven grumbles. “Where do I start?”

“After we got thrown in prison. Everyone’s up to date before that”, Octavia answers.

“Well, I was sitting on the bed when I heard noise outside, so I got up and walked to the door to listen a little bit better”, Raven begins to recall. “And good thing I did: given how sound-proof the cell was, I’m not sure I would have heard the faint whistling if I hadn’t had my ear against the door; anyway, it sounded suspiciously like a fuse, so I took cover in the safest corner. These idiots who kidnapped me clearly had no idea what they were doing, because – okay, their bomb was small, but blowing up a door when you want someone alive and you’re not sure whether they’re standing right behind it or not? Morons!

“So anyway, I got knocked out as soon as they walked into the room, and next thing I knew I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t really move, I was gagged, and I was bouncing off something every damn second. It took me a while to figure out what was happening; I was wrapped in furs and tied up on a damn horse – which is super uncomfortable, by the way. I had no idea what the hell was going on, but I started kicking as best as I could anyway. It was the only thing I could do and thankfully it worked; the horse kept jumping to the side to try to avoid me, so eventually we stopped. I got knocked out again, but the horse must have kept being a pain in the ass while I was unconscious because I woke up in a village while two Grounders were trying to tie me up again – though on a saddle and in a sitting position, this time. I was still gagged and disoriented but at least I could see what was happening… except I’ve never ridden a horse in my life apart from a walking one when we came to Polis, so as you can probably imagine, that brilliant idea of theirs didn’t turn out too well.

“Long story short, we quickly got back to the village and I was thrown in a cart this time. From what I gathered, my two captors didn’t want to get draft horses to pull it because they’d be too slow, so they harnessed their war horses instead.”

Clarke frowns and interrupts Raven. “Wait, they were speaking English?”

“Uh… No?”

“She helped me revise my Trigedasleng for a while”, Octavia explains, then turns to Raven. “I guess you picked up on a few thing after all, huh? Told you it could come in handy one day!”

Oh. Suddenly, the fact that Raven understood Lexa’s ‘gon Kostia’ also makes a bit more sense to Clarke.

Raven glares a little. “Can I continue?”

“Please do”, Octavia replies with a self-satisfied smirk.

“So the Grounders threw most of the equipment in the cart with me, but they were extra careful with one saddlebag and I got suspicious – they were even holding it at arm’s length, as if something in there could bite them. I couldn’t take a look at what was inside while I was under constant surveillance, but I got my chance something like an hour later.

“Both war horses were clearly not used to pulling a cart, if their behavior was any indication, but one of them was particularly not cooperative. It kept jumping from side to side and in the air, making the ride pretty damn chaotic, and I guess at some point it decided it was done with this shit because it started kicking. Repeatedly. It wouldn’t stop no matter how much the assholes that captured me whipped it, so I honestly thought it was going to either break the cart or hurt itself pretty badly, but it lost balance before that, falling to its knees, and when it got back up it started limping.

“We were forced to stop, obviously. The Grounder who was controlling the cart got out… to check its leg or hoof or something, but the other horse wouldn’t stay still, so the guy who was watching me had to jump down as well to help. He wasn’t holding the, uh, the thing on the horse’s head—”

“The bridle?” Octavia offers.

“Maybe”, Raven shrugs. She honestly doesn’t know. “Anyway, he wasn’t holding the horse properly because he kept checking on me, so when the other Grounder was done doing… whatever”, Raven shrugs again, “and he got back up, I took it as my cue to try something. I yelled, scaring the two nervous horses that jumped forward a bit, then I managed to grab the whip before the two Grounders caught them again and I cracked it the best I could to make the two horses break into a gallop – which, thankfully, worked as well as I had hoped. I put some distance between— Why are you guys looking at me like that?”

“You’re pretty damn amazing”, Bellamy states, summing up everyone’s thoughts.

“I know”, Raven agrees with a smirk. “So it turns out the recorder was in the saddlebags, which… didn’t really surprise me, actually, and it helped me figure out what was happening. I had heard the word ‘Azgeda’ in the village, which had made me guess I was taken to the Ice Queen that Clarke had warned us about, but I didn’t know _why_. It made more sense once I saw the device.

“I wanted to just throw it away at first, but I was worried the Grounders would check if it was still there or not once they found me again – and I knew that if they did, they’d search for it when they realized what I had done, so I would be back to square one and I would have gotten away for nothing, which would have been infuriating; besides, I figured Clarke wouldn’t be too happy if I destroyed it or lost it either.”

“Good guess”, the latter confirms, “though it would have been worth it if it had saved your life.”

“I had a better solution, though”, Raven continues, grinning, then pauses to add some suspense. “I just removed the battery.”

“You— Raven, that’s genius!” Bellamy exclaims.

“ _I’m_ a genius, I know, I know”, Raven retorts, chuckling teasingly. “Anyway, since I’d had to build that recorder in such a hurry, I hadn’t put much effort in its hardware – by which I mainly mean that the components weren’t exactly arranged inside the box. I could remove anything, its absence wouldn’t catch the eye since no part had one specific place to begin with; besides, any hole could be easily hidden just by pushing and pulling at the motherboard and a few wires. Even if the Grounders opened the recorder, it wouldn’t be obvious that something was missing. So I threw the battery out of the cart, I closed the box again, and I put it back in the saddlebags where it’d look untouched.

“Once I was done, I tried to get as far away from my captors as I could, but I didn’t know where I was exactly and I have literally no idea how to lead horses, so… Yeah, they just stopped walking and started grazing at some point. It still took the two Grounders over an hour to get to me, though, and let me tell you: they were _pissed_. As I expected, the first thing they did was indeed to check if the device was still there, despite being really not happy about having to open the saddlebags with _the evil recorder_.” Raven rolls her eyes at that, and then continues: “Anyway, after that, they seemed to decide that I was too much of a pain in the ass when I was conscious, so they just knocked me out every time I was waking up again, until we arrived in this castle.

“Nia warned me that she knew how to make people talk so I’d be telling her how the recorder works quite soon; I retorted that I had been tortured enough already to guarantee she wouldn’t get anything out of me like this. I’d just die eventually and she’d be back to square one – she’d just have lost time. I was convincing, apparently, because she was enraged but she didn’t try to hurt me just yet, so I decided to push my luck a little.

“When she turned around to leave, I muttered ‘it’s not like it’s that hard to use anyway, a child could do it’ – supposedly low enough for her not to hear, but actually just loud enough to offend her. It got me what I wanted: it bought me time before she resorted to torture, because she tried to make it work on her own.” Raven smirks. “Of course, since it wasn’t powered, I’m sure she had a bit of a hard time with that! I think she was giving herself until tomorrow to admit defeat and beat the shit out of me in hopes that I’d talk after all, so thanks for arriving before that happened – not that I had doubts about you guys finding me or anything, but I do appreciate the speed. Now, can I get your side of the story?”

“Hey, Raven?” Clarke asks before someone else can speak.

“Yeah?”

“You know you’re the best, right?”

Raven grins. “Yup, but it’s always good to hear it. So, which one of you is finally going to tell me how you found me?”

Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia exchange glances.

“Not me”, Clarke finally says. “I’m a little curious to know why you all ended up in the throne room exactly.”

“Fine, I’ll do it”, Octavia shrugs, since Bellamy is a bit too busy staring at Raven with heart eyes to tell the story properly anyway.

Given that Clarke already knows what happened in Polis, she tunes out the beginning of the story and takes a few minutes to let the fact that everything went well sink in.

Raven is safe and mostly unharmed – apart from the consequences of the rough trip to Alboli –, Lexa got out of the fight very much alive, Nia is dead, and all her friends are okay. They’ll all go back to Polis as soon as tomorrow, and then… And then, Clarke refuses to think about Pike before she’s had a good night of sleep.

She has hope, though. The outcome of this Ice Nation situation has brought back some of her hope for the future, and she wants to believe that Abby will already be waiting for Raven with good news when they get back to Polis.

One more thing to take care of, and they will finally all be able to truly relax.

One more thing.

It’ll soon be over.

(Well… At least, she hopes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Kom” = “From”  
> “Gon Kostia.” = “For Costia.”  
> “Azplana ste daun. Spek daun gon ai. Nau.” = “The Ice Queen is dead. Bow before me. Now.”  
> \----------  
> Fun fact: the whole part about Roan was entirely unplanned. But then he wouldn't leave the story without making me write an entire backstory for him, so... I did, and that's basically how this chapter came to be. Writing is fun yet weird, sometimes, guys!


End file.
